To do the Unspeakable
by mony2208
Summary: Auror Draco Malfoy is on the verge of being fired. Given one last chance, he is sent to investigate dark activities at a muggle university where he stumbles upon a certain saviour who disappeared from the wizarding world two years ago... Slash, PreDH
1. An Unpleasant Surprise

**Title:** To do the Unspeakable

**Author:** mony2208

**Pairing:** Harry/Draco

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**Summary:** Post-Hogwarts. Auror Draco Malfoy is on the verge of being fired. Given one last chance to redeem himself, he is sent to investigate dark activities at a muggle university, where he stumbles upon a certain saviour who disappeared from the wizarding world two years ago. Pre-Deathly Hallows. Slash.

**Author's Notes:** Yes - for all those who have been patiently waiting for my other fics to be updated – I have decided to take on the mammoth task of another story. I'm really sorry that I haven't devoted my attention to the other fics but I guarantee they will be seen to in the future.

* * *

**To do the Unspeakable**

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**_Chapter One_**

The sound of heels clicked slowly against hard cement, echoing loudly and eerily throughout the corridors of the Ministry of Magic. The owner of those footsteps, Draco Malfoy, one of the Ministry of Magic's youngest Aurors, was striding briskly and arrogantly towards the Auror Department.

As had been common practice for all the years he had worked at the Department, he confidently strolled past his fellow Aurors; the smirk adorning his pale, aristocratic face never wavering as he hardly bothered to acknowledge their meagre presence nor the whispers and stares that followed soon after. In his opinion, each and every one of them were consequently less important than him anyway and hardly worth their weight in Knuts, much less the Galleons they were paid.

His smirk, if possible became even more pronounced. Yes, as far as he was concerned, everything was as it should be in his life.

"Malfoy!"

… or it least it had been for one brief albeit perfect moment.

Slowing down slightly, Draco turned just in time to see the person behind the booming voice - a rather intimidating, one-legged, one-eyed man - emerge from a nearby office and come stomping over to him. Unlike Draco's perfectly calm expression, this man's face was red and scowling, and he was angrily waving around a considerably longish looking parchment.

At the sight of the gruff wizard, Draco's smirk morphed into a momentary scowl, before he forced his features into what he hoped was a neutral and conciliatory expression.

"Yes Moody," he greeted the wizard pleasantly. Usually, pretending to tolerate the man was the best way to go. "What is it I can do for my illustrious boss today?"

Moody's remaining eyebrow – the other had been burnt off from a particularly powerful _Incendio_ - furrowed deeply, making it clear to Draco that today was not one of the lucky days. In fact, Moody's current look was reminiscent of Draco's Potions professor back at Hogwarts … right after Longbottom had spectacularly blown up a potion right in his face, that is.

Standing in front of what looked to be a very pissed off Head Auror was not an entirely favourable position to be in.

Draco automatically began to back away. "You know, sir, I've got a case I really should-"

A gnarly hand shot out to grip Draco's upper arm, effectively stopping his escape attempt.

"Get into my office," was the terse, almost growled reply.

Under the old duff's iron grip, Draco had no choice but to be propelled through the doorway and into Moody's office.

Once inside, Draco was able to pull himself out of Moody's grip. He smoothed down his rather expensive wizarding robe in an affronted manner that was more for show than anything else. It was a well known fact that Draco Malfoy hated it when people got physical with him. It was just so … muggle.

"No need for the histrionics, sir," he directed stuffily. "I would have come in if you had merely asked."

This time Draco certainly _did_ hear Moody growl, followed by the door wandlessly slamming shut. The nearby paintings on the wall shook from the force of the slam, and the Auror hobbled over to his chair. He gruffly ordered Draco to sit.

Reluctantly, Draco obeyed, sinking into the chair opposite of Moody's cluttered desk.

Of course Draco would never admit it, but being in the presence of this man wasn't particularly pleasant. Along with the small fact that Moody scared even the most senior of Aurors, every time Draco looked at the man, he was unpleasantly reminded of the brief time in fourth year, where he had been sufficiently smaller, longer, hairier, _and_ airborne without a broom. One of the worst moments in his life to this day actually, and it was hardly a consolation that _this_ Moody had not been the one responsible for it. Draco knew that the real Moody probably would have done the same anyway. He'

Draco's forehead creased faintly when his eyes caught sight of the suspicious looking parchment Moody had before him. He had the distinct feeling that Moody's mood had something to do with him and that parchment, and he doubted it was a detailed description of all the good things he'd done whilst working at the Ministry. According to the sheer length of it, it was more likely a list of what types of clothing he had worn to work, rather than _that_.

Chewing on his lip almost absently as he pondered what it could be, Draco leant back into the chair and casually draped one leg over the other.

"So what is it you wanted, sir?" he eventually asked, making his voice distantly polite.

Moody, who up to that point had grown silent from perusing the parchment, stood up again. He began to pace the length of his office, his wooden leg thumping loudly every time it made contact with the floor.

"Malfoy," he began evenly, looking as though he was working very hard to reign in his anger. "Despite my initial reluctance at allowing you into the Auror Department, you have been one of the most promising Aurors to enter the Ministry since the war ended four years ago. Your magical abilities are outstanding, your results for concealing and cloaking off the chart. In fact, apart from that little indiscretion of yours a few years back, there is nothing in your records to suggest that you won't be moving your way up the broomstick in the Auror department within record time."

"Why thank you sir," Draco drawled, picking at a nail with disinterest. "When would you like me to move in to your office?"

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw – with a certain amount of satisfaction - as Moody swallowed visibly, the fake eye rolling madly in sync with the gnarly looking Adam's apple. _That would teach the slimy oaf to bring up that _indiscretion _of mine._

"However," The Auror roughly cleared his throat. "that is until I received the reports about your most recent mission."

_Ah, and there was his answer_. Draco straightened up abruptly. "Jones and Haspitch were Hufflepuffs," he said defensively. "Whatever they say can't be taken too literally."

"Malfoy, you were half an hour late to your own _mission_!" Moody shouted, losing all composure. His fake eye just about popped out of his head.

Sucking in a deep breath, Moody stopped yelling long enough to raise a hand and push it back in. "Jones and Haspitch were forced to _wait_ until you decided to stroll on up the raid, which jeopardised the case we have been working on _for over three months_!"

Draco shrugged complacently. "I had to do my hair," he lied, raising a hand to his head and flashing an endearing smile. "I'd been sending way too much time here lately and my hair was almost starting to resemble the traditional Auror haircut, which by the way is _so_ out of date."

There was a loud _thunk_ as Moody stamped his wooden leg into the ground. He was obviously not convinced by the lame excuse, nor finished with his outburst. With a vicious snarl, he sat back down behind his desk to point a gnarly finger halfway down the offending piece of parchment.

"Do not _think_ for one moment that the Ministry are unaware of your snooping around Knockturn Alley. We have no less than three Aurors confirming your presence outside Borgin and Bourkes the very _hour_ before you were meant to be on that mission."

Draco crossed his arms stubbornly, and Moody, correctly sensing that Draco was not going to answer anytime soon, went on crossly. "Malfoy, you are borderline obsessed in the events surrounding your father's death, and running off at every bit of information you hear is not going to do you any good. It's. Been. Three. Years."

"Look - so what if I was at Knockturn Alley?" Draco snapped, dropping all pretences now. His eyes flashed angrily as he leant forward to glare at the other man. "And so what if I am still investigating my father's _murder_ on the side. I have every right to find out who killed my father-"

"Your precious father was a rogue Death Eater." Moody spat, he too leaning forward over his desk. "On the run from the Ministry up until his death – so don't go spouting that he is worth all this trouble."

"HE WAS STILL MY FATHER!"

"AND YOU ARE _THIS_ CLOSE TO GETTING FIRED!" Moody threw back, holding up two gnarly fingers only millimetres apart. "SO I THINK IT'S ABOUT TIME YOU GOT YOUR PRIORITIES STRAIGHT!"

There was a moment's standoff between the two Aurors. Draco wished dearly that the arm rests he had such a death grip on was the Auror's neck. Eventually though, a still fuming Draco snapped his mouth closed and slowly eased himself back into his chair. As much as he felt angered and wronged by the whole situation with his father, he was unwilling to lose his job over it. It was on a dwindling list of what he had left in his life lately, the others on that list being his looks, his wealth and his purity of blood.

His lips couldn't help but twist bitterly at that, and Moody, taking that and Draco's silence for acquiescence, calmed down somewhat.

"You really aren't cut out for any of the missions you have requested." he announced in a thicker but less harsh tone. As Draco went to protest, the wrinkled wizard added, "For one thing, they all require you to work with your fellow Aurors, and as of this moment, none of them are willing to have you as part of their team."

"Well, fine." Draco didn't care one way or another. He never liked all the other snivelling Aurors he'd been forced to work with over the past few years. He was better than all of them put together and always had been. "I work better on my own anyway."

As he said that, Draco expected the usual harsh rebuke along the lines of "there is no I in team."

Instead, a sinister smile appeared on the old Auror's face, one that Draco did not like in the slightest.

"Well Malfoy," Moody chugged slightly, unnerving Draco even more. "Don't say I didn't warn you, but I have the perfect _lone_ mission for you."

* * *

"You want me to go undercover as a stupid _muggle_ in a school?" Draco screeched a few minutes later. Once again, he dug his fingers deep into the arms of his chair, his whole body fraught with tension. "You know I wouldn't have a clue as to what muggles do in school. Plus, I most certainly will not go to back to school as though I was a fucking kid again."

Moody was far from daunted by Draco's outburst. "First of all, it's not a school, Malfoy." he pointed out. "It's a university, and the muggles there will be your age and above." He stopped for a moment, before he continued on, looking far too pleased with himself. "Second of all, before you go there, you will be undergoing two weeks of intense muggle survival lessons, where you will learn exactly what it takes to successfully integrate with the muggle population."

Draco's mouth went slack. Had he heard correctly? He was being forced to attend studies about _muggles_?

"You've got to be fucking kidding me," he stated incredulously.

Moody only shook his head. "Oh no, Malfoy. This is no joke. You got yourself into this by being so damned selfish."

There was a lengthy pause as Draco's mind struggled desperately to find a way out of the situation.

"Why can't you just get someone else?" he said eventually. "An Unspeakable perhaps. They're the ones that usually go undercover for ops." All the Aurors, including Draco had an equal dislike towards the Unspeakables, and Draco hoped that in this instance it would help his case.

However, Moody wouldn't budge. "There is _nobody_ else, and you know very well that the Unspeakables wouldn't take up a case such as this."

Draco scoffed at this, but couldn't argue back that time. Moody was right. The Unspeakables _wouldn't_ accept this sort of case. They always thought they were superior to everyone else, only accepting the most dangerous and important of cases.

At times like this, it made him wish _he_ had had his request to join the Unspeakable Department accepted.

Moody went on, unaware of Draco's thoughts. "In fact it was an Unspeakable, Parkins, who suggested that I assign this case to you. He, like myself found it particularly - fitting." He chuckled again.

_Parkins is that annoying Unspeakable who has been sending those Snape-like glares at me in the elevator_, Draco realised. _Prick._

Aloud he continued to protest, "Look, if there is dark activity at this uni-visity, then I'm sure some rogue death eaters are involved – which of course means that I would be easily spotted. I _am_ a Malfoy after all."

Moody looked at him as if to say 'nice try Malfoy.' "There are no death eaters enrolled in the school," he declared, making Draco slump back in his chair. "We checked the college records out, and from what we can tell, there might not even be any death eaters involved. Current evidence suggests that the people responsible are a few squibs performing ridiculous rituals to show off to their muggle friends."

"So it's not even a top-notch mission. It's just a search and clean-up for Filch look-a-likes." Draco grumbled, crossing his arms in a huff. "Great. Who cares about a few squibs attempting a few magical tricks anyway?"

Moody scowled. "They are still dark magical tricks, and the Ministry is responsible for rooting out anything magical in the muggle world."

"Well that's fucking great. You've got the perfect way to get rid of me for a few months and humiliate me at the same time." Draco complained. He stood up indignantly and headed for the door. "I'm not just going to sit down and take it, you can be sure of that, Moody. I'm going to _fight_ this."

* * *

"So this cord plugs into outlets such as these – no, no, don't poke your wand at it - _Mr Malf_-"

_Zap_.

"Well fuck." Draco muttered, glaring contemptuously at the innocent looking 'outlet'. He patted down his frazzled hair with trembling fingers.

A throat cleared. "Perhaps we should go through the safety rules again."

"Please do," Draco drawled.

* * *

After the unfortunate 'hair incident' - as it was dubbed by the Ministry of Magic, Muggle department - two weeks later, Draco astonishingly managed to survive the horrors of the muggle world.

And now here he was, standing in front of the most atrocious looking buildings he'd ever encountered in his life. Eroding bricks, fading paint, one hell of a smell … Draco grimaced. This must be muggle University. Joy. How all muggles didn't just kill themselves before they got to this point was beyond him.

Still grimacing, he pushed himself through the door and up to the main desk. It didn't take long before he was given his room number – he just had to be on the sixth floor - and directed towards the nearest, decrepit staircase.

As he stopped in front of the steps, his hands tightened perceptibly around the handle of his suitcases; muggle suitcases of course. He was after all masquerading as one, even though at that very moment he was wishing he was thousands of miles away.

It had been another huge laugh in the Auror department when Moody had informed him that when working undercover, Draco would have to adopt _all _aspects of a muggle uni student, including living in the on-ground student apartments.

He'd argued vehemently of course, insisting that it would have been perfectly understandable for him to just Apparate to university directly from his house. But that argument hadn't worked, neither had his "significant other would miss me" excuse.

So what if he hadn't _exactly_ had any significant other living with him at the time. He could have had one in the near future … he'd actually almost asked Thursday's one night stand to stay another night just the week before.

Draco sighed, hardly able to repress a wince as he remembered what had happened next at the Ministry. It hadn't been one of his greatest moments. As a last resort, he had even gone so far as to threaten to quit - pitching a fit worthy of Potterdom. But all that had achieved was a laugh thrown in his face and a derisive, "Go right ahead," as if he wasn't worth the trouble.

Still simmering with anger at the unfairness of it all, Draco sighed again as he went to pick up his suitcases again. From the main desk, the young woman behind it sent him a frown.

Honestly, Draco could care less about what the girl thought of him. He had other more important things to occupy his mind, like how he had no idea how long he would have to stay there or how long it would take until his ridiculous case would be solved. Merlin, the only thing he did know was that he would have to get used to the muggle way from now on...

…and he was hating it already.

Beginning to climb up the stairs, he barely managed to reach the first landing of the staircase before wanting to collapse. Without a feather light charm or hovering charm, his belongings had never been heavier.

His hands itched to pull out the wand sequestered up his sleeve and just mutter the damned spells. Unfortunately, the countless lectures he'd been forced to listen to specifically stated that he was not allowed to use magic when out in the muggle public, or when not in a dire emergency.

_"It could alert the culprits of his identity and jeopardise the mission,"_ Draco mimicked under his breath, openly scoffing at the old Auror's words. Since the war, those words had been his most used phrase. Well, after the infamous '_Constant Vigilance'_, that is.

Draco snorted, bending to pick up his suitcases again. At least here at university, he wouldn't have to put up with that arse of an Auror for a while, nor his ridiculous practices. Here he would be all on his own.

Strange though. He would have thought that statement to have felt more satisfying. Instead, that eerie, hollow feeling he'd had for two weeks – ever since being banned from further investigating his father's case - seemed to be settling itself comfortably in the vicinity of his chest.

Telling himself that he didn'tneed _anybody_, and that _that_ certainly wasn't the reason for investigating his father's murder, Draco grit his teeth purposefully, and set himself back to the painful task of getting up those stairs. He'd go back to finding out about his father after he solved this ridiculous case anyway.

He built up a rhythm after the tenth step. The trip seemed much more satisfying to meet each individual step with muttered curses; oaths that insulted muggles and their plebeian methods for everything in life.

He'd just reached the point of insulting muggles horrible architectural talents when a blurred figure appeared from behind him and dashed past him with such speed that he was abruptly jostled out of his thoughts - and consequently to his side. Not expecting the sudden bump, one suitcase managed to slip through Draco's fingers and began to drop back down the staircase in the process.

"Damn it." Draco swore. Forgetting about the blur, he dropped the other suitcase and spun around to chase the still falling one. It had some pretty volatile wizarding defence mechanisms that wouldn't exactly like the bumpy ride, as well as some of his favourite outfits that he could no longer have spelled clean and ironed by his house elves.

Thankfully, after merrily bouncing its way down ten steps, one of his hands managed to grab it, and Draco was able to skid to a grateful stop. He wiped one sweaty brow, his heart pounding furiously at the near miss.

Merlin, he was already sick of everything. All he wanted to do was to find his new quarters, and collapse. Why did it all have to be so hard?

He went to swing back around with the troublesome suitcase, but suddenly, the weight in his hands was lifted as an unexpected hand reached from behind him and plucked it from his grasps.

"Here, let me." A deep, masculine voice offered somewhere by his left ear.

Out of pure Auror instinct, Draco snapped straight up; whirling himself around to face the speaker so fast that the two only just managed to avoid colliding with each other.

"Whoah," The other man was the one to take a cautious step backwards, the suitcase still in his sturdy grip, "I'm really sorry 'bout that," he said sincerely, "I was running late to meet my new roommate that I hardly saw you as I ran past. Are you all right?"

Draco nodded, finally given the opportunity to look at the person who had accompanied the voice. Over six feet tall, short dark brown hair and cheery brown eyes; the man sounded plain but was anything but. He had a tall, slender body, and an easy going attitude that made Draco feel instantly at ease.

"I might be wrong, but it seems like I may be that roommate." Draco returned with a drawl, jerking his head toward the suitcases in the other guy's hand and the one still resting by the top of the staircase.

The other man laughed. "Yeah it seems that way." he replied easily, then extended his free hand out in Draco's direction. "I'm Marty Davis, at your service."

"Drake Malloy," Draco returned, taking Marty's hand in a firm grip whilst he inwardly grimaced at the name that had been assigned to him. Really, how pathetic could the Ministry get?

Marty gave a lopsided grin. "Nice to meet you." he said, not yet releasing Draco's hand. After a lengthy pause, Draco was the one to pull back, a seed of suspicion being planted in his mind. He cocked his head slightly. Could this muggle possibly be …

"_Hey_!"

Either unable or merely unwilling to, he didn't finish the question, instead turning his attention to another person who had come barrelling up the stairs and almost stumbled on Draco's other suitcase.

"Watch where you leave things, you idiots." The girl cursed before she disappeared.

Draco sent her a curse of his own – thankfully his wand not in reach - before rushing upwards to grab the suitcase, which too had been close to toppling over the edge.

"Don't mind her," Marty reassured, following Draco up the stairs. Together they managed to lug the suitcases up to their landing and down the narrow hallway. "She forgets that this is just a building one step away from being condemned, and not the old prep boarding school she used to stay at with mummy and daddy's money."

Draco could hardly snort at that, being reminded of his own life … or at least what it used to be. He merely gave a barely there nod as if to agree then continued to follow after Marty.

"Here we are!" Marty announced a few minutes later, motioning for Draco to stop. With trepidation, Draco did and turned to face a peeling doorway with the number 6L hanging from it. It looked hardly appealing.

However, Marty luckily didn't notice Draco's woebegone expression, too busy digging his hands into his pockets.

"Where is that damned thing?" he muttered under his breath, before crying out in triumph as he pulled out a familiar set of keys. Draco had his in his back pocket. Without wasting any more time, he slotted it into the keyhole, twisted it and then pushed the door open. "Voila." he said, stepping aside to let Draco in first. "Your new home."

Taking a timid step inside, Draco knew that Marty was waiting for some sort of reply. But it was taking all his powers just to not grimace at the sight he was met with. What Marty called his home, looked like the deserted house elf's quarters back at his father's old mansion.

A small, hardly liveable living room was what he saw first; a dingy three-seater couch - with all kinds of rubbish on and alongside it - facing a muggle contraption Draco now knew as a T.V. Taking a few more steps inside, he looked to his right and saw a doorway leading to an even smaller looking room, the kitchen. He didn't really care much about that room though as he'd never lowered himself to cooking, and soon focused his mind on the back of the apartment, where a narrow hallway was situated. He guessed the three remaining doorways in that hallway were where the two bedrooms and bathroom were and had to restrain a shudder. _Sharing bathrooms_. He hadn't had to do that since Hogwarts … although he had to admit it had sometimes had its perks.

Marty brought him back to the present with a slight cough.

"I admit it isn't in the best of conditions," he apologised a bit sheepishly, kicking an empty pizza box under the couch as he walked past. "But I don't get many roommates, and I haven't really had the chance to clean up from a bit of a birthday party I had for a friend the other night."

Draco nodded absently, and as he did so, an odd feeling, without any warning, washed over him. _The other night_, he mused thoughtfully. He felt as though he should know something important about this time of the year, and more particularly that date. The 30th, wasn't it? Or the 31st at least …

_Hold on … the 31st of July_, he finally realised with a start. Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived's birthday! The 22nd in fact, had the saviour-turned-Quidditch-superstar not dropped completely out of the wizarding world two years ago.

A tiny, sour smile graced Draco's lips as he remembered back to that time. According to the Daily Prophet, it had been '… _the disappearance of the boy who had rid the world of the most evilest Dark Lord in existence._' To this day it was still a popular topic of conversation in the wizarding world.

Some people believed a cover-up where Potter had been killed by rogue Death Eaters; Draco's father a popular choice. Others swore that he had finally broken and been sent to St Mungo's in the same department Lockhart still occupied. There was one person who'd made a fortune after telling the Quibbler that he'd caught a glimpse of Potter walking the hallways of the hospital in a long, pristine white gown. Of course, he had also been the one who had sworn he saw the ghost of Sirius Black in Vanuatu.

Draco tried not to bother himself with any of those petty theories, but even as an Auror, it wasn't certain if those rumours were fact or not, or if Potter was still, in fact, alive. As far as he knew, there hadn't even been an investigation into the disappearance – well not by the Aurors at least. He wasn't sure when it came to the Unspeakable department.

Though he couldn't have cared less, Draco had to admit that Potter's disappearance was extremely unusual and suspicious. One day, he'd been the most successful seeker for the Chudley Canon's, not to mention the top paid, then the next he'd just dropped out of both public and private view, never to be seen again.

_Actually, it wasn't long after the dear Weasel's sister and brother's death that he disappeared_, Draco thought, his lip curling slightly. Both had been Unspeakables and had been killed in a freak accident in some sort of an experiment.

He smirked at the sudden thought. After all those times he'd called the Gryffindork 'Potty' at Hogwarts, Potter probably did go potty after the Weaslette's death. The so- called Golden Boy was supposed to have been absolutely smitten with her, or so the rumours and newspapers had said.

As something to the far right of him clinked shut, Draco stopped his thoughts of Potter to see Marty walking back over to him with two bottles of a muggle beverage.

"So," Marty said as he handed Draco one, "what do you think?"

Draco blinked, thrown momentarily. What was he supposed to say? He didn't know anything about muggle houses. For all he knew, they all _liked_ to live like this.

"It has – potential." he eventually said, deciding that his initial comment, 'garbage dumps have more finesse than this,' wouldn't really help his newfound image.

Luckily, Marty beamed as if it was the best compliment ever. "It's better than what James would say," he chuckled. "He told me it's one step away from being a bomb site."

Draco ignored the 'bomb' comment, still not really knowing what everything was in the muggle world. "James?" he enquired instead. Perhaps this James was Marty's friend or perhaps, as Draco suspected, something more.

"James is one of my closest friends." Marty explained conversationally, taking a gulp of his drink. "He lives just across the hall and down a bit. His was the birthday party I had here for him."

"Ah – so he doesn't approve of your – decor?" Draco asked, silently adding '_Can you blame the poor guy_?'

Marty laughed, a low, rich sounding laugh. "Not at all. He says that guys like me should be better attuned to our feminine side."

"Guys like you?" Draco echoed slowly, his suspicions becoming more concrete by the second. He decided it couldn't hurt to just come straight out with it and ask, "I don't mean to pry, but are you-"

"Queer? Gay? Flaming homosexual?" Marty supplied, correctly guessing what Draco was going to ask. He didn't seem offended though as he gave a nod. "I don't go around flaunting it everywhere, but seeing as you're to be my roommate for lord knows how long, I figure it is best to just get it out in the open straight away." He stopped, grinning wryly, "Well not _straight_ away. Don't do straight very well. Hope you aren't offended."

"No," Draco said quickly, only just managing to stop himself from admitting that he was actually kind of relieved… and intrigued. "It's alright. I – I was just shocked is all. Where I - come from, it's not as openly stated."

Marty nodded in understanding. "A lot of homophobic bastards living in your neighbourhood then?"

Draco stifled a snort. _Try my whole fucking family_.

Unbidden, his Aunt Bellatrix's voice echoed throughout his head. "_Queers are a waste of purebloods…_ _ending centuries of precious bloodlines … it's indefensible."_

Outwardly, Draco's lips twisted upwards in a half-hearted smile as he remembered the fate of his insane aunt just weeks after what would have been the beginning of his seventh year.

"You could say that."

He mentally shook himself before looking up at Marty and going back to what he had been initially thinking. "So – are you and this James …" he trailed off meaningfully.

Marty laughed, shaking his head. "James is no longer one I would consider as anything more than a friend. No my – uh – partner doesn't go to uni. He occasionally stays over here, and that's why I've never had a roommate before. They haven't exactly liked my choice of - partners."

And then it suddenly and irrationally hit Draco. Why the Auror department had pushed the whole muggle accommodation thing so much.

_I bet Moody and the rest of the department are having another great laugh at my expense_, he thought sarcastically. _Put Malfoy in with the poof. What a screamer. They probably expect me to come running back, begging to be assigned another case_.

_Well, not this time,_ Draco thought resolutely. He actually had the urge to laugh. _This time they're the ones who underestimated me._

"Well," Marty said, and Draco focused his attention back on him. "I've got to go out for a bit but here's your key to the apartment," He dropped a key in Draco's palm, "and I'll leave you to unpack in your bedroom. It's the last one on the left. Oh, and welcome to the University Hall by the way."

"Thanks," Draco smiled and this time his smile was genuine as he watched Marty give him a friendly wave before walking out the door. At least something or rather someone was welcoming in this place.

* * *

"Hey."

Draco's head snapped over to the doorway, where Marty was standing. He'd come back a few hours before, but per Draco's request, had left Draco for a while longer to finish unpacking his luggage and cleaning his new bedroom.

This might have been because he may or may not have added a few inches to the depth of his wardrobe, but Draco wasn't about to admit anything anytime soon. A man had his limits after all.

"You wanna come out with me and some friends tonight?" Marty ventured cautiously. "It's just at the local uni bar."

An automatic refusal at the tip of his tongue, Draco opened his mouth to decline. Then, remembering Moody's taunting voice as he assigned him the case and the mocking looks in all those other Aurors' eyes as he left, Draco shut his mouth with a snap.

He _had_ been planning to spend the night going over the notes of the case so far, but after the way everyone at the Ministry had treated him, why should he bother? He didn't need to spend _all_ his time on the case. There was nothing wrong with having some fun, because no matter what everybody thought about him, he could – no _would_ get this case solved in a jiffy, and he would once again be needed at the Ministry's Auror Department. In fact, he would be needed so much they'd be on their _knees_ begging him to come back.

Grey eyes shone with resolve as he snapped the folder in his lap closed and discreetly waved his hand over it to wipe the contents clean.

"Sure."


	2. Living the Muggle Life

**Title:** To do the Unspeakable

**Author:** mony2208

**Pairing:** Harry/Draco

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**Summary:** Post-Hogwarts. Auror Draco Malfoy is on the verge of being fired. Given one last chance to redeem himself, he is sent to investigate dark activities at a Muggle university, where he stumbles upon a certain saviour who disappeared from the wizarding world two years ago.

**A/N:** Thanks goes to all the people that reviewed the last chapter and added my story to their favourites. Much appreciated smiles Also, for those still waiting for me to update my other stories, especially Diametrically Opposed, don't worry, it's coming. Maybe a couple more weeks ... I'm hoping. It's hard to get inspired about my fics again after such a long hiatus.

* * *

**To do the Unspeakable**

* * *

**_Chapter Two_**

Tapping his chin with a pale, pointy finger, Draco critically studied his profile in front of his bedroom mirror.

Although Muggle clothing was undoubtedly what he _now_ needed to wear, he still had yet to get used to the entirely different style of clothing. Like right now, for instance. The black top that currently moulded itself to every curve and dip in his slender torso, the low slung _denim_ jeans - the name the Muggle officers at the Ministry had given him – that barely covered his hips. To be perfectly frank, Draco almost felt … naked.

Up until this very moment, or rather the moment he had relented to doing this ridiculous case, he'd spent the _entirety_ of his life with an expensive robe of some style or design around his shoulders. Robes for casual wear … robes for formal events … there was practically a robe to fit every occasion in wizarding culture.

Never, in all that time had Draco really worried about what lay _underneath_. It wasn't something that was usually in plain sight, let alone the focal point of an outfit. Merlin, one person he'd been with hadn't worn _anything_ under their fancy robes - not that he had complained at the time - and Draco was certain there were many more just like him who preferred to just worry about their robes.

It certainly didn't seem to be the case here in the Muggle realm. From the two weeks he'd spent in that dreadful Muggle integration course, then the time he had spent acquiring his new wardrobe, he'd learnt that not only were robes _not_ the main attraction in a Muggle outfit, but it was those very under garments he'd only previously taken for granted that _were_.

And there were _so_ many varieties. Different colours, different styles, different names. Usually Draco was up to speed in all areas of wizarding fashion, choosing only the best to wear of course, but all these Muggle clothes were just too many for him to familiarise himself with.

Biting his lip, Draco twisted and turned a few more times, running his fingers up and down the black, almost velvet-like top.

"But I guess that this is one Muggle way of life I _won't_ mind adapting to," he eventually decided aloud, nodding to himself. He looked _good_.

His reflection agreed wholeheartedly. "I think you look absolutely fabulous," the mirror gushed.

Draco smirked in return - _he knew it had been a good idea to sneak in his favourite mirror from home_ - before grabbing a jacket and walking out of his bedroom to meet Marty.

* * *

Half an hour later, Draco was stepping into what was known as the "uni bar"; a small, but rowdy looking bar situated in the middle of the university campus.

His first impression of the place was far from reassuring. Instead of it just being a step down from the places he tended to go in the wizarding world, it was more like a jump off a cliff. The inside of the building, like the rest of the university was crumbling and way too cramped, the lights were too dim, and the overall smell of the place … well let's just say that the mixture of sweat, alcohol and the smoke from those distasteful Muggle cigarettes didn't make a particularly positive aroma for his palate. As a matter of fact, the whole atmosphere of the place almost seemed to scream "Hog's Head", the ghastly pub in Hogsmeade that Draco had once been forced to go to.

Despite the almost stifling humidity of the pub, a shiver coursed through Draco's veins. He preferred _not_ to think of that particular time in his life. Both unpleasant and eye opening, that event five years ago had had the ability to consequently destroy and save life as he had once known it.

Draco would have shivered again, but years of suppressing all emotion from both himself and those around him soon had him focusing back on Marty, who'd continued chatting regardless of Draco's inattention.

"-buy us some drinks."

He waved his agreement for the Muggle to go, content to just stay put by the entrance for a little while longer.

Having the chance to survey the place some more, Draco put his Auror training to good use, noting the various entrances and exits in the pub, and any suspicious looking characters.

Finding nothing out of the ordinary, Draco leant against the wall and belatedly hoped that him being there tonight wasn't going to be a disaster waiting to happen. If one wasn't to take into consideration the brief brushing of shoulders with Granger during the war, and that short, drunken interlude with that Hufflepuff Finch-Fletchley, apart from Marty, he'd never really _mingled_ with people associated with Muggles before. Pleasantries aside – which, with his upbringing came to him naturally – what on earth did Muggles have to talk about?

Draco stifled a scowl as some sweaty, loud-mouthed Muggle crashed into him from behind. Salazar knew how he was going to manage it tonight without hexing one of these uncivilised goons. He discreetly fingered his sleeve, where his wand was currently strapped.

"Drake, over here!"

Quickly snatching his hand away from his wand, he watched as Marty emerged from the thick crowd of Muggles and cheerfully sidled up to him with their drinks.

_More Muggle alcohol_. Accepting a bottle, Draco somehow managed not to grimace at the bitter taste of his drink as he took a sip. _Great._

He received a nudge from Marty, and grudgingly, he followed his Muggle flatmate deeper into the place to find his friends. It didn't take long. Despite the intensity and sheer number of the people present in the pub, part of the 'gang' were clearly visible in a booth on the other side of the bar.

As they approached the booth, Draco was able to see the 'gang' – somehow they'd acquired apostrophe marks in Draco's mind – three men and one woman, all of who were comfortably squeezed in together.

It took another few steps before Draco realised all of who were also staring back at him quite unabashedly.

For a brief, irrational moment, he had the skin crawling feeling of wondering what it might be like to be Harry Potter.

He grimaced, quickly shaking _that_ thought off. He'd already thought enough about Potter that day, and feeling even the smallest bit of pity towards his school nemesis just wasn't ever going to happen.

Again.

"Soo," Marty called out. He flashed a sheepish grin at Draco, which clearly told him the Muggle too had noticed everyone's rapid attention towards him. Reluctantly, the booth's occupants turned to their friend, and Marty placed a friendly hand on Draco's shoulder. "Everybody this is Drake. He'll hopefully be a new addition to our family from now on."

There was a chorus of welcoming "Hello," "Hey," and "What's up," and Marty motioned Draco to squeeze in on side, slipping into the opposite side himself. Only then did he begin to point out everyone in the booth.

"The cheeky guy smiling next to you is Tyler," he said, the brunette's solemn face raising an eyebrow before warmly shaking Draco's hand. "Then there's Ally--" He pointed towards the only woman, a redhead with freckles and unfortunately many other Weasel-like characteristics. "--Domick the schmuck--" The dusty blonde stuck his finger up at Marty who laughed, "--and the lout next to me trying to feel me up is Sam."

Sam, a cheeky looking blonde who had been quick to place one arm around Marty's shoulders, gave an innocent shrug then also extended out a hand for Draco to shake. His hand was warm and strong in Draco's, and Draco fancied that the long, taper-like fingers squeezed a second longer than was necessary.

"So you're new to this hellhole," Sam joked when he'd settled himself back into the booth. "I'd like to say welcome, but really my gut instinct is just wanting to tell you to run."

Draco gave a tight smile, thinking _mine too_. "Yes, well I just moved in to Marty's apartment today. So I'm afraid I'm stuck here for now."

Surprising Draco, the redhead practically spat out her drink.

"That's right," she gasped out, choking. "I forgot he was _actually_ getting a permanent roommate." She turned to Draco with mock sympathy in her eyes. "I really give my condolences."

Marty grinned at Draco over the table. "Don't worry, I'm not _that_ bad," he reassured him. "She's just jealous I never invited _her_ to stay over."

"Oh no, I know I'm the wrong sex for that," Ally shot back, then instantly clapped both hands over her mouth in horror as she cast a sidelong glance at Draco. "I – you – you know a-about Marty – Marty's condition…" she trailed off, obviously stricken that she'd inadvertently revealed too much.

Marty gently kicked Draco under the table again, and shook his head slightly. Draco took that as an indication for him not to reveal anything yet.

Well, Draco could play along with that rather Slytherin-esque plan. It sure squashed the childish urge to tell her that her face looked grossly unflattering when it matched her hair colour.

"What condition?" he asked, his face the perfect picture of innocence.

As Ally spluttered, turning an even brighter red, Draco caught Marty stifling an evil grin.

Marty waited a few more moments of spluttering before finally deciding to have mercy on her. In Draco's opinion, it was too soon.

"Not to worry, Al," he said at last, letting a wide grin spread across his face. "Drake already guessed my colourful preferences, and apparently doesn't mind in the slightest."

Ally's mouth opened into a slight 'O' as realisation struck. Then, a glare Draco knew extremely well appeared in her eyes, one that promised acts of murder towards the two now smirking men.

With an ease that displayed this scene happened quite often, Sam quickly defused the situation, leering good-naturedly, "Well Drake here is a fine specimen of a man, isn't he?" Tyler and Domick exchanged amused glances as Sam added, "Makes one wonder which preference _he_ might lean towards."

The booth's occupants turned expectantly to him.

_Obviously not one for subtlety_, Draco mused darkly, and cursed himself for not thinking about an adequate answer sooner. Bloody Ministry and their undercover operation. He was damned if he admitted the truth, and he was damned if he didn't and had his handy little cover blown because he couldn't _get along_ or fit in with the Muggles he was placed upon.

"I-" he began eventually, a complete lie on the tip of his tongue.

Fortunately, luck decided to strike at the opportune moment. A girl came to a screeching halt in front of their table, sighing exasperatedly.

"There you all are!" she exclaimed, and promptly nudged Marty and Sam's legs until she could squeeze her way in next to Domick. "So who's the cutie?" she asked, after giving Domick a quick peck on the lips.

This time, Sam answered instead of Marty. "The cutie is Drake," he introduced slyly.

The girl smiled pleasantly, and leant forward to unexpectedly take Draco's hand in a firm handshake. "I'm Lisa."

"Our regular fag hag," Marty supplied cheerily, taking a swig of his beer, "and Domick's girlfriend."

"And mother hen to boot," Sam muttered to the side.

Domick stifled a cough that sounded suspiciously like a laugh.

Lisa shot her boyfriend an annoyed look. "Speaking of mothers, how's _your_ dear Mumsy?" She directed this at Sam, looking altogether smug.

At Draco's confused expression, Tyler leant over to quietly tell him that Sam's mother was a sore point for him since he had to live off-campus with the battle-axe.

Draco winced in sympathy. After his father's arrest, he'd had to endure the summer holidays with his mother as his main source of company (he was deliberately excluding any and all Death Eaters who might have visited in that time). Although he had loved her dearly, it had hardly been memorable.

Sam laughed unpredictably, surprising nearly everyone else on the table.

"She's been passed out on the couch," he declared, pausing dramatically, before, "ever since I told her I needed out of the house tonight so I could get laid by some guy with a huge cock."

The entire booth filled with laughter. If Draco's mouth had been full, he would have most assuredly choked at that moment, like Domick was currently doing. The now teary-eyed man had tried unsuccessfully to laugh and swallow his drink at the same time. Tyler thumped him on the back, until he could catch his breath again, stifling a chuckle of his own.

Wiping his own tear-filled eyes, Marty raised his bottle of beer in a toast. "Here's to dear old Mumsy," he said through laughs.

Everyone else at the table followed suit, Draco's toast slightly unsure, and there was a melodious chime as all their bottles and glasses clinked together. "To Mumsy."

The next few hours proved to be an entirely different experience for Draco. The camaraderie between the group and the ease with which they shared their innermost secrets fascinated and horrified him to no end. Fascinated that they had the courage to spill their most embarrassing or humiliating moments, and horrified that they didn't seem to realise the distinct possibility that those very events or moments were going to fall in the wrong hands and eventually get used against them.

Back in his Slytherin days, and to be perfectly honest, even afterwards, most elements of his life were never shared with anyone other than his own sub-conscious. Disregarding the obvious issues such as his father's "Death Eater" persona, his wealth and where his family's beliefs had all _once_ fallen, his self-preservation instinct had always kicked in and stopped him from revealing any other private issues in his life. In Slytherin, even the smallest mention of his favourite food could have proven to be harmful. Who knew if someone wouldn't just use that information to poison him later on in life?

And that's why he found it so hard to believe that this group of Muggles found it to be almost second nature to blurt out practically everything going on in their lives. From flirting with a uni lecturer to boost the mark by ten percent to hearing about Lisa's parents finding her in bed with Domick – it was all such good blackmail material, but nobody even thought twice about it. Sure, there was teasing and ribbing when they were revealed, but soon enough the issues were dropped, and someone else added something even more outrageous to the fray.

He'd said it before, but he'd say it again. It was definitely going to take some time to become acclimatised with all things Muggle.

* * *

Somewhere in between his sixth or maybe seventh Muggle drink – not knowing the types of Muggle alcohol, he let Marty and the others buy him whatever they fancied – Draco realised he was becoming quite intoxicated. Twice, he had almost been tempted to admit a few home truths about his own horror of a life, which was a sign of definite overindulgence.

So when the topic once again drifted towards people's preferences, Draco remained oblivious to the danger that was lurking ahead, choosing to take another blissful sip from his tropical coloured drink. Just as he was grudgingly admitting to himself that Muggle drinks weren't so bad after all, Marty slapped Sam's hand away from his lower regions for the umpteenth time.

"For fuck's sake, Sam." he said, exasperated. "If you're that horny, get Tyler to take you to Joe's for a while. I'm sure you'll find someone there to occupy your time."

Sam leaned back against the headboard, unperturbed, and slowly moved his arm until it was behind Marty's head. "Actually, I was hoping that since your – boyfriend ain't here, I could maybe borrow you for a while." He had the nerve to grin audaciously.

"Not a chance."

Looking like a kicked house-elf for a brief moment, Sam shrugged it off, took another sip of his drink, then seemed to get a better idea.

He turned to Draco, who raised an eyebrow in return.

"You never did end up telling us which way you swung, Drakey," he said, a hint of hopefulness creeping into his slightly slurring voice, "maybe I could still get lucky."

Silently cursing the use of his better forgotten nickname, it took a while before Draco's mind caught up with the rest of what Sam had said.

Then Draco's brain froze.

Even thinking back to that night, he still didn't know why he answered the way he did. Perhaps it was from the reaction that copious amounts of unknown Muggle alcohol had in his system, or that it was the first time since he was a small child that he'd been able to confide in _anyone _his age. All he knew was that one moment his mouth was closed, then the next his mind decided to hell with the consequences, and his mouth was open and the truth just came spilling out.

"I've never been bothered defining myself," he found himself saying. "I mean why limit yourself to just one preference?"

"So you're bi-sexual?" Tyler speculated thoughtfully. Draco thought he detected understanding in those dreamy chocolate eyes of his.

_Uh oh, I'm really drunk. I should just cut my losses and apparate back to the apartment. _

It was a pity his mouth didn't seem to want to listen, though inwardly he mused that it was a wonder he could still manage such large words without too much slurring involved.

"You could generalise it like that, though it's not so much a one-way street. Sometimes I seem to go one way for a long amount of time - then I go the other way. To be honest, lately, I've been thinking that I really do prefer to go with the male aspect more." Draco remembered back to the last wizard he'd slept with - how one night with him had been more satisfying than a week with a witch.

Sam smiled. "I'll drink to that."

Marty didn't say anything at first; studying him with an intense look in his eyes. _I hope he's not thinking of hitting on me,_ Draco thought drunkenly. _If the Ministry found out I fucked a Muggle I lived with, I'll be dead_.

"So why have you been thinking that way recently?" the Muggle thankfully asked instead.

Draco shrugged. "Well, I guess wiz-_guys_ are less likely to become – emotionally attached. Usually, a fuck is a fuck, and you don't usually have to worry about men saying they want kids and so on."

"And their bloody white picket fences," Sam cursed.

Draco completely missed the Muggle reference but continued on, "Now that I think about it more, I only really kept the option available to women, because of how I was brought up. My parents always imbedded the knowledge that one day I would grow up, get married to some broad, and have kids who would continue the grand old family name." Draco snorted to show how much he thought about that.

"So why aren't you married to some broad yet?" Sam also showed his scorn for that. No doubt his mother was similar in that regard too.

"Both my parents died, and I decided I didn't like the family name too much anyway." He paused before adding snidely, "Not to mention that the only real prospects to marry looked more like breeds of dog, than pu- humans."

He shut his mouth abruptly. Purebloods around the world would have a wand to his throat after that comment, but by Salazar did it feel good to get that off his chest.

Incredulous silence met Draco's words for several long moments. Then laughter once again became the main attraction.

"So Drake here is tempted by both sexes," Sam noted a while after. The very thought of it had the other man rubbing his hands in glee, and if Draco had been sober, he would have appreciated that fact more than he was now. "Another one to add to the fray."

Another voice suddenly joined the conversation. "Hmm … as long as Drake here doesn't start hitting on my property, I won't have a problem."

The unexpected voice came directly behind Draco.

He spun around in alarm. However, facing a smiling, laid-back looking sort of guy who immediately sat beside Marty and wrapped a possessive arm around unresisting shoulders, made him relax somewhat.

_Ah, this must be Marty's lover_, Draco's rather sluggish mind realised, vaguely remembering the name Marty had supplied earlier. _Dan whatsit. _

"What are you doing here?" Marty asked, after more introductions had been made. "I thought you had work tonight?"

The other man, Dan, smirked knowingly. "I skived off," he replied, "so shoot me." Marty whispered something in his ear, making him laugh and nod. "Later."

Sam sighed theatrically. "What we wouldn't all give to hear what you just said."

Dan flipped him the bird before looking around for something. What it was, Draco couldn't guess until he spoke. "So where's ol' James tonight?" he asked, taking a lengthy sip from Marty's beer.

Draco surreptitiously waited for the answer. Apart from the few times James' name had been mentioned in passing, this was the first direct mention of James all night. It was rather surprising as he seemed to be Marty's best friend.

Tyler stopped his chat with Domick to turn to Dan and Marty. "He didn't feel up to it tonight," he informed them, "Said he had work to be catching up on."

"Haven't seen him 'round for a while," Dan noted with some disappointment. "Not since he disappeared with those strange _friends_ of his again."

Draco's eyebrow rose. What kind of _friends_, he wondered?

Marty gave Dan a warning look, obviously catching Draco's expression.

"Bringing up this 'James' again I see," said Draco, sipping at his drink and trying not to act as interested as he was. Perhaps this James was one of those involved in his case. "What's with him? He seems awfully mysterious."

Domick laughed. "That's our James. Dark and mysterious - and just a little brooding to put in the mix. We've been friends with him for over a year now and we still know next to nothing about him."

Lisa added, "Other than being almost compulsively obsessive about his work, and then the odd disappearance now and again."

Marty was now eyeing him strangely, but Draco felt as though he was getting somewhere. "Disappearance?"

"He has the odd habit of disappearing into thin air for a few days, then appearing again as if nothing had ever happened. No explanations, no nothing."

"And according to Tyler, he doesn't even come back to his apartment in those times," Ally supplied.

Draco turned to Tyler, who shrugged uncomfortably under the attention, obviously not wanting to elaborate.

Lisa, however, looked ready to add even more to the mystery. She went to open her mouth but Marty abruptly cut her off, by standing up.

"Well, I'm up for another drink," he announced. "and I think it's about time you girls get your lazy arses up and help me get another round."

Not accepting any "no" 's for an answer, he quickly proceeded to pull up the two girls and Dan with him. Whether or not it was done deliberately – Draco suspected the latter - it effectively ended Draco's hopes of any more information, as it seemed that Tyler was unwilling to contribute and Sam and Domick were arguing over some Muggle sport.

However, after a few minutes of awkward silence between the two, he was proved wrong.

"Marty's a bit protective over James," Tyler eventually said in a deep, low voice. Draco followed the Muggle's gaze over to Marty, who was laughing in between Lisa and Ally. "Treats him like his little brother even though they're around the same age."

Draco guessed Marty was around 25 years old, and assumed this James was something close to it.

"Why?"

"James has got no family – and Marty helped him through some pretty rough times."

"Were they – ever together?" Draco ventured carefully, getting the feeling from Marty's earlier comment that something had once happened between the two.

Tyler scratched at his head. "Uh, they were kinda together for a short while. Nothing serious or anything. I think James just needed to mess around with someone until he found that special one – and well Marty – apart from Sam, he's usually never one to say no to anyone, especially to a catch like James."

_Catch like James, huh_, thought Draco, taking another gulp of his almost empty Muggle drink. _He definitely seems to be a phenomenon_.

"Hmm," was all he had to say in return, keeping his thoughts to himself. He finished the drink almost absently.

There was definitely something about this James, and he intended to find out exactly what it was.

* * *

The next morning arrived unwelcome for the young Auror.

First, a strange buzzing by his ear had disrupted his slumber around dawn. With his head pounding mercilessly, Draco was _not_ in the mood for any sort of noise and had spared no time in pulling out his wand and muttering a curse in its vague direction to get it to shut the hell up.

Fortunately, that had proved successful, and he'd drifted back into a peaceful sleep.

However, a few short hours later, he was once again awoken abruptly. This time by the slam of his door.

"Hey, Drake, you're going to be late – whoa, what the heck did you do to my alarm clock?"

Draco opened one eye and looked up at the annoyingly hyperactive Muggle standing in front of him.

"Bugger off, or you'll suffer the same fate."

The blurry form that was Marty didn't budge. "Yeah – so I'm thinking you need a good old sip of Marty's famous hangover mix." He retreated from Draco's sight for a few minutes, sounds clanking from the kitchen, then walked back in with a large, steaming mug. "Here, have a bit. It's guaranteed to knock the effects of alcohol right out of your system."

Reluctantly, as it seemed Marty wasn't going to accept another expletive as an answer, Draco pushed himself up into a sitting position and took hold of the offered mug.

He looked at it doubtfully. Maybe this was like the Hangover Potion Severus usually supplied him. Who knew what these Muggles did?

When he tasted it though, the truth made itself known.

"What is in this tripe?" Draco gasped, once he'd managed to convince the first positively horrendous gulp to stay down in his stomach.

Marty shuffled his feet, for the first time looking a bit awkward. "Ah – it's actually based on a remedy that James makes for us, but I kind of ran out of his supply and just decided to make my own."

"It – It's awful," Draco choked out.

"Yeah, but it helped, right?"

Draco didn't even have to think about it. "No," he replied, then promptly pulled the covers back over his head.

Covers that were just as quickly yanked off.

"Get up!"

Groaning, Draco had no choice but to climb out of bed, promising himself that once he solved this case, he was going to slip some fast working poison into the mugs of the Muggle Department.

And the whole Auror Department to boot.

"Good morning," Tyler chirped, greeting Marty and Draco once they'd stepped outside their door. Draco noticed with some annoyance that the other Muggle looked unnaturally awake for somebody who had almost fallen the entire length of the staircase the night before. "Ready for your first day of university?"

Draco grunted unintelligibly. The shower and some Muggle medication he'd taken earlier had eased his headache somewhat, but he couldn't remember ever being this hung over. How could Muggles remain so unaffected by it?

"What do you have first?"

Once again, Draco grunted, dragging his feet along the ground.

Marty stopped. "You've already enrolled in all your classes, right?"

Draco hesitated, before giving a slow nod. The Ministry _had_ done that for him, hadn't they? During the two-week integration course, he seemed to vaguely recall them saying something about preparing everything he needed to go to university. Classes were sure to be included, right?

"Oh, well," Tyler faltered slightly, probably at the look of confusion that was sure to be present on Draco's face, "all you need to do is collect your schedule from the main office then."

"Where would that be?"

Tyler brightened visibly. "I'll show you," he announced. "I've got nothing for an hour, so I'll be happy to take you there and then onto your first class."

True to his word, Tyler did, and soon enough, Draco had in his hand his new torturous schedule for Muggle University. Tyler peered over his shoulder and quickly read aloud what Draco was only just reading himself.

"Hmm … History next. Looks like you've got a full plate this semester."

Draco made a non-committal noise at the back of his throat. It didn't really matter what classes he was given. Just as long as he went to them and kept up appearances as Drake Malloy, the Muggle uni student, then the case could be solved and he could go back home.

Instead of leaving him to wander around the university aimlessly, Tyler ended up also guiding Draco to his first class of the day, all the while cheerfully regaling him with the many tales of his and the others' first days at university. Draco laughed and grimaced at the appropriate times, just like he was expected too, but when he spoke, his speech was stilted and at times quite short.

A hard habit to break from his life as a Malfoy and a Slytherin, it seemed.

Tyler didn't seem to mind it though. On the contrary, one time when Draco made a rather cutting remark about the university's bathroom facilities, Tyler even laughed and admitted that Draco's personality was quite refreshing.

It was almost with an air of reluctance that Draco finally reached the room. Agreeing to meet Tyler for lunch after class, he swaggered into the large theatre with minutes to spare.

His first impression of the Muggle circular theatre wasn't very pleasing, apart from the initial surprise at how many seats there were, and how many of them had already been taken. He'd never known so many Muggles studied at this university. His post-school Auror classes had not even included a _quarter_ of the amount of people that were already seated.

_They breed like the Weasleys_, Draco mused, smoothly sitting himself down in the middle of the very back row – in the perfect line of sight to see everything. He doubted he would find out anything useful about the case in this class, but his Auror instincts just naturally kicked in these days. And as the Ministry had unfortunately stressed, he needed to have an adequate cover in case the situation _did_ end up to be more serious than originally thought.

Draco was personally beginning to think that that wasn't going to happen though, and that the people responsible for the recent dark activity were merely bitter squibs trying out illegal but useless spells to improve their magic. It had happened many times before, and Draco was almost starting to feel sorry for the unfortunate souls.

Almost.

As a smirk crossed his face, a Muggle quickly slipped into the seat beside him, and gave him a frazzled look. "This is History 101, isn't it?" he asked quickly. "I'm new here."

Considering that the board had, in large writing, the words 'History 101' posted on it, Draco could barely contain his derision, and promptly pointed it out. The Muggle instantly flushed in embarrassment, and turning away from Draco, stared at the books in front of him as if they were the most important things in the world.

Draco snorted, carelessly pulling out his own book. _Muggles. _

Now that he came to think about it, whatever did give those bumbling idiots back at the Ministry the idea that History would be an adequate subject for _him_ to take? He'd only taken the stupid wizarding topic to NEWT level at Hogwarts because it was a prerequisite to become an Auror, not because he actually _enjoyed_ listening to Binns drone on about yet another Goblin riot. Good gods, at the rate he used to shoot off to sleep in that class, he would have been better off doing the Muggle equivalent of Divination.

Besides, why on earth would he want to learn about the history of _Muggles_? Surely the Ministry didn't think that by forcing him to take this class, he'd actually start _liking_ them? Admittedly, Marty and the people he had met last night weren't entirely awful, but from his own – albeit slightly limited - experience of Muggles, their history was not only inferior to the magical world's, but hardly included anything on which to be proud of.

No, in his opinion, he wasn't going to become a Muggle lover or sympathiser anytime soon. He'd already become the shame of his family – he wasn't about to add to that when at least _some_ honoured purebloods left in the wizarding world remained by his side.

He bit back a frustrated sigh. Still, that was hardly going to help the situation he was in now. Changing topics was probably nigh on impossible; the Ministry wouldn't allow it, especially if they caught wind that it was because he just didn't _like_ it.

At that moment, Draco's attention was diverted over to the front of the room as the door situated there swung open, and who Draco assumed to be the lecturer - an old man with a horrible comb-over – walked through and over to the podium to ask for everyone's attention.

"… All right," he said without further ado, his crackling old voice sounding oddly amplified. Draco gave a mental note to himself to find out how Muggles did that without a '_Sonorus_'. "Welcome to History 101. There's an extensive amount of historical events we'll be covering this semester, so I'd like to start immediately on the subject of the English Civil war in the mid-17th century between King Charles I and his supporters, and his opponents in the Parliament. An essay will be due for this in the next month, so let's open our textbooks to page 566 to pick up on the Second Civil War where Charles was eventually tried on the grounds of treason and subsequently executed in 1649 …"

The lecturer's voice trailed off as he turned the page, and opening his own book, Draco stifled a groan, contemplating whether the Muggle and Auror Departments could still function if he did follow through with his promise to have all their current workers poisoned off. They just all seemed too Slytherin for his tastes, with the courses he would undoubtedly have in store for him.

Very, very grudgingly, Draco forced aside his moral objections to the ridiculous topic, _he'd have time to do that in his next meeting with Moody_; settling himself into the task of pulling out a featherless quill from his book bag and jotting down the main points of page 566. It didn't matter if he had next to nothing in common with what was being taught in this Muggle class. He'd made do in many useless classes before, he'd make do now.

Twenty minutes into the class, and his eyes slowly losing their battle to remain open, Draco looked over at the Muggle from before snoring slightly, and sleepily conceded that maybe Muggles and wizards _weren't_ much different from each other after all.

If their reaction to History class was any consideration.

* * *

For the second time in two days, Draco almost collapsed on the way up the long, winding stairs leading to his apartment. The nap he'd inevitably had in History hadn't done much to revive him for the rest of the day's classes, and by the end of the day, he was completely drained. Not since Hogwarts had he been required to sit in classes as boring as that, nor had he been required to learn about things he'd only just recently touched upon himself.

He scoffed aloud, climbing the last step. Really, what a waste of time his _French_ lesson was. All he needed was a simple translation charm. Then he'd be able to speak the language fluent enough people could almost mistake him to be a native of France.

Reaching the door to his apartment, he tiredly dropped his heavy bag by his feet and fumbled in his pocket for his keys. His not-so-nimble fingers took a while to find exactly where he'd last put the blasted things, and after resisting the urge to just pull out his wand and '_alohomora_' the door open, he eventually found the right key; slotting it neatly into the lock and twisting it open.

A loud chorus of boisterous shouting and laughing filled Draco's ears as soon as he entered the apartment, and discarding his robe- no, _coat_ on the coat-rack and his bag on the ground, he couldn't help but grin wryly.

_It appears uni life doesn't daunt Muggles as much_, he thought, turning his head towards to the kitchen, where it sounded like they all were.

With another grin, he headed towards the kitchen and through the kitchen doorway, where he was proved correct. The whole group of people he'd met the night before were all present, the majority sitting around the small bench laughing and drinking.

On closer inspection though, Draco noticed another person in the mix; a slim, black haired man, who was sitting at the kitchen with his back facing Draco. From the way he sat and the way the others talked so easily to him, he guessed that the raven-haired man must be the illustrious James.

Not yet noticed by anyone inside, Draco stared at the other man's back for a moment longer. He couldn't quite place the strange feelings that had suddenly arisen at the sight of that man; familiarity and recognition, maybe, both of which made absolutely no sense. He couldn't possibly know this Muggle already, could he?

Draco quickly dismissed the ridiculous thoughts, stepping into the room. He probably only felt he knew the man because of how much everybody had been talking about him. Also because he could possibly be a suspect in his case. What other reason could there be?

"Drake!"

As expected, everybody immediately noticed him when he walked inside the kitchen, greeting him with exuberant shouts, and in Lisa's case, an enthusiastic hug.

"Drakey!" she cried out, her arms latching glue-like to Draco.

Draco's arms remained stiffly by his side. If there was one thing that Draco didn't do, it was being hugged. And usually, he had no qualms about telling people that he just wasn't into them. That they were too emotional and useless and he'd grown out of them by the time he'd reached Hogwarts.

But, as his mouth opened to do just that, his eyes caught something far more interesting, and he found himself forgetting all about some inconsequential hug.

In fact, he found himself forgetting about abso-fucking-lutely _everything_.

For at that very moment, the man he had suspected to be the infamous James had slowly dropped his legs off the stool he was sitting on, and turned around to face him.

Over Lisa's shoulder, Draco could only gape dumbly at the familiar emerald eyes and the familiar clump of messy, raven-black hair that were now clearly and undoubtedly in view.

"_Potter_?"

_tbc_

* * *

**A/N: **So, what do you think about this so far? I've written up to Chapter Six at the moment, but I'll be uploading once every week. :D I'd love it if I received feedback ... positive would be nice of course, but I can handle constructive criticism, hehe. 


	3. Complications

**Title:** To do the Unspeakable

**Author:** mony2208

**Pairing:** Harry/Draco

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**Summary:** Post-Hogwarts. Auror Draco Malfoy is on the verge of being fired. Given one last chance to redeem himself, he is sent to investigate dark activities at a Muggle university, where he stumbles upon a certain saviour who disappeared from the wizarding world two years ago.

**A/N:** So I caved and decided to post this chapter a little ahead of schedule. I figure that I tortured you enough with that lil' cliffhanger last chapter, and of course, I'll be driving you all crazy when I get past Chapter Six and take absolutely ages to update. It's a bad habit of mine, I'm afraid. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter. I loved writing it!

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* * *

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**To do the Unspeakable**

* * *

**_Chapter Three_**

Despite Lisa still draping herself limpet-like over him, it suddenly felt as though Draco had been struck a physical blow to the body. Multiple blows in fact.

The first thing that struck him dumb was responsible for his jaw just about dropping to the floor. _Potter was here?_

There was absolutely nothing in this case that could have possibly indicated that Draco would come face to face with Potter after three and a half years – two of which the saviour had been _missing_, even suspected as being _dead_. It was almost a laughable thought actually. Who would have honestly believed the wizarding saviour turned Quidditch star would willingly drop his hero status to be enrolled in a Muggle university that was on the edge of poverty?

But here he was, looking as though he had every right to be there. Amongst Muggles he calls friends and fellow students, and sporting the new alias of 'James'.

This thought led Draco to the other startling realisation, which was less important, but equally as startling. _Boy had Potter changed._

When Marty's friends had described James as being the dark, mysterious and brooding type, Draco hadn't known how true that statement would turn out to be. Without the trademark chunky glasses, baggy clothes, and the ugly red lightning scar protruding from his forehead, Potter looked every bit the part. And it went further than appearance too. This Potter truly seemed to be comfortable with himself, his body, and of those around him. Dare he say that Potter looked even more content with these Muggles than he had been with the other two members of the Golden Trio after the war.

Well aware he was still mindless gaping over Lisa's shoulder, Draco truthfully could _not _connect the dots between the wizarding boy he'd seen over two years ago, and the Muggle man that was standing there at that very moment, looking so damn cocky and sure of himself.

Giving Draco an extra squeeze, Lisa released her suffocating hug, joking around as if nothing was out of the ordinary.

_But I thought I'd blurted out Potter's name,_ Draco panicked suddenly. _Won't they think it's strange I called their James, 'Potter?'_

It wasn't until Draco opened his mouth and attempted to speak did he realise he couldn't have possibly said Potter's name out loud.

Not when all that came out of his mouth was an incoherent croak.

He hastily cleared his throat then, still unable to stop staring wordlessly at Potter, whose face betrayed nothing of what lay underneath as he stared back, undaunted.

When it became clear the two were going to remain at a stalemate, Marty intervened.

"James."

Walking over to the still motionless wizard, Marty wrapped a light arm around Draco's tense shoulders in a similar move from the night before. "I'd like to introduce you to my new roommate, Drake."

This time, a flash of surprise briefly crossed Potter's features. But to Potter's credit, it went as quickly as it had appeared; replaced by a cool, nonplussed look as he stood up and slowly extended his hand.

"James Evansson. Nice to - meet you."

_Evansson … Evans' son … how bloody predictable._

His eyes inadvertently dropped to Potter's outstretched hand. It was disconcerting that too much of the situation reminded him of their first official meeting on the Hogwarts carriage. The offered hand, the expectant yet defiant look – it was too bad he was undercover, or else he would have followed Potter's example all those years ago, and inflict as much hurt and humiliation onto the missing saviour that Potter had once inflicted upon him.

Draco looked up to catch the faint hint of amusement in Potter's eyes, hating that the other man was obviously thinking along the similar lines. _I wish I could just hex the poncy bastard._

Reluctantly, he forced his arm to move and shake Potter's hand.

"Drake Malloy," he said thinly, then feigned disinterest at his next words. "Forgive me for my initial silence, but I must say that you look _remarkably_ similar to someone I used to know."

To Draco's satisfaction, at those words, Potter apparently seemed to be unsure of how to reply, mouth grappling fruitlessly for words that were not spoken aloud. Sam, however, broke the unusual tension, cleverly quipping that that was his usual pick-up line.

The room immediately tittered with laughter and Potter's face instantly sported a cocky grin again.

Yet, unbeknownst to everyone else, there was a clear glint of warning in those emerald eyes, and in the tight grip Potter still had on Draco's hand.

Draco squeezed back. _Warning received, Potter … for now._

As if reading his mind, Potter's head tilted in the slightest of nods and released Draco's hand; smoothly stepping back as if he had not a worry in the world. It struck Draco yet again how remarkably different this Potter was from the one that he had once known and hated. It didn't make the situation any easier though.

Moving to sit back on his stool, Potter took a sip from his drink, and addressed Draco's initial question. He appeared to be satisfied by the blonde's reaction.

"I believe I'd remember someone like you," the once saviour drawled easily, throwing his head back for another sip. Draco allowed himself to be momentarily captured by the graceful way the other man's Adam's apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed, before abruptly turning away with a grimace.

_When had Potter become so damn lickable?_

Silently cursing himself for thinking such a thing, he accidentally caught Sam's eye, who was noticeably leering at him again.

Sam smirked when their eyes locked. "I think we all would," His words were but a purr, causing Ally to slap him on the arm. "_What_?"

"Keep it in your pants," she hissed.

Affronted, Sam looked ready to launch into a retort, but Marty shook his head, breaking the two bickering adults up by forcibly standing in between them. Draco had the feeling it happened quite often by the looks of things.

"Children, children," he chided good-naturedly, "Must I take away your alcoholic beverages again?" Ignoring their indignant outcries at such a suggestion, he turned back to Draco with a hopeful expression. "You can have one though, if you like?"

Without missing a beat, Draco immediately declined. He wanted desperately to digest all these new revelations on his own and not in the presence of any irritating, _missing_ wizarding heroes. "I don't want a repeat of this morning," he added by way of explanation.

The two men who were subject to Draco's hangover that morning both chuckled in unison.

Draco snatched the perfect opportunity to escape. "Actually, I think I might have a bit of a rest in my room. This first day has been more draining than I had expected."

Thankfully, he was met with understanding nods.

"It's always a different experience when you suddenly find yourself at a new place and surrounded by all these different people," Tyler agreed.

"Yeah – almost an _otherworldly_ experience, couldn't you say?" That of course came from Potter, his voice holding the slightest hint of sarcasm.

Again, it went unmissed by everyone except Draco.

Faking a laugh along with the rest of them, Draco hastily agreed with the group, then quickly went on to excuse himself and run into his bedroom.

After shutting his door, Draco didn't bother taking the few steps required to reach his lumpy, cramped bed. Instead, he leant his forehead against the cold, hard grain of the door, weariness finding its way in to mix with the disbelief and anger that was now coursing through his veins.

_What was with this Potter, and why in Salazar's name was he here?_

* * *

* * *

Draco paced back and forth the small bedroom, alternating between clenching and unclenching his fists. He'd had plenty of time to allow the whole situation to sink in, but what with the never-ending barrage of questions being tossed around in his head, and the continuous presence of Potter's laughter drifting in from the kitchen, he'd found himself becoming angrier and angrier by the second.

What in blaze's name _was_ Potter doing at a Muggle university – no, to be more specific, what was he doing at _this_ Muggle university? The very one Draco was sent to investigate dark activities?

_Could_ the raven-haired wizard have something to do with the so-called dark activities? Sure, the actual traces of dark activities were relatively small – hardly enough to warrant a big-scale operation (as proved by Draco's assignment), but was it possible that Potter was somehow responsible? He _did_ have an inkling of suspicion towards James before he had found out James was Potter. There had just been too much mystery surrounding the supposed Muggle.

Draco groaned aloud. Why couldn't that infuriating git just leave his life for good? It was so hard to gather all that he had discovered about this James and then assign them all to Potter. His own extensive knowledge of the boy hero seemed so different from the Muggles' descriptions of James. Their lifestyles, their occupations, their personalities – it all just didn't seem to mesh together.

And –

Draco stopped dead. _Hold on_. He backtracked to what he had just inadvertently revealed.

Lifestyles …

"Potter's _gay_?"

Oh, this was just way too much to digest. James Evansson was Harry Potter, who was a Muggle uni student, who was a very attractive and mysterious man, who was – _gay_?

Excluding that Ravenclaw witch, who had been completely whacked, and the Weaslette, which had only lasted a few months in their sixth year, when had Potter shown any interest towards _anyone_, let alone a guy?

The years at Hogwarts, up until his sixth that is, then the years that had followed, Draco had certainly seen no sign that the boy-who-lived had any inclination towards the same sex. And he had to admit grudgingly that he'd watched Potter a fair bit over the years … what with them being school boy nemesis's, and then for that time in sixth year, on opposite sides of the war too.

_Not that I would have ever done something about it if he was, of course_, Draco reminded himself, almost laughing at the thought. They'd never been able to bury the hatchet completely, not after what had happened with that whole Dumbledore thing … being responsible for his death and all.

Wincing, Draco abruptly forced his mind away from that dreadful night. As cold as he felt toward the former Headmaster, he'd never truly wanted him to die. He had just wanted to protect himself and his family, which now that he'd thought about it, _had_ been quite a Gryffindor-like thing to do. No wonder he'd gotten off so lightly in the end…

He kicked out at his bed in frustrated anger. Bloody Potter for stirring up these old feelings, he cursed. Always causing trouble wherever he roams.

_Although, the saviour is looking drastically different than what he used to_, said the little voice at the back of his head. _Definitely no longer the weedy, bespectacled boy he was three years ago, is he?_

"So," a voice drawled, and Draco spun around, startled to see Potter casually leaning against his now opened door. He hadn't even heard it open. "_Drake Malloy _hits Muggleville. Who would have thought?"

Draco's eyes immediately narrowed in anger, and his lips pursed into a vague scowl. He saw no reason to continue the façade any longer, not when the other Muggles were clearly not around to see or hear it. _And so what if the poncy git isn't as much of a geek anymore_, he belatedly threw back to the little voice.

"What the _hell_ are you doing here?" he snarled.

Potter's face adopted a barely believable innocent look as he shrugged. "Oh, sorry," he apologised, looking anything but. "Must have taken a wrong turn." He shrugged again, now smirking faintly. "Thought this was the bathroom."

The veracity of this new Potter shocked Draco into speechlessness, and he gaped, lost for words for the second time that day.

"You _know_ what I mean, Potter," he said, eventually regaining his voice. "What the hell are you doing _here_, at this Muggle university? Did your poor, oversized head get too bored with the endless fame and fortune that was thrown at you in the wizarding world? Or wasn't it enough for you that you now have to move onto the Muggle world and rule them too?"

Potter's face sported a wry expression. "Not that it's any of your business, but being a student at a Muggle university is hardly enough to satisfy my so called 'delusions of grandeur'."

"Where there's a will, there's a way," Draco shot back, irritated by how calm Potter was taking all this.

Potter snorted. "You really haven't changed since I last had the pleasure of being in your company, have you Malfoy?" he noted, but sounding as he if he didn't really care. "You seem to think that you have the right to barge in here, demanding that I answer questions that really _you_ should be answering."

"I do have the right," Draco answered stubbornly, crossing his arms. He suddenly felt out of place standing in a Muggle bedroom. Then again, Potter had always had that effect on him. "I'm not the one who has been missing for two years."

"Oh?" Potter raised both eyebrows haughtily. "So I'm supposed to believe that there's nothing unusual about the sudden appearance of a pureblood wizard at a Muggle university? A pureblood, I might add, who, throughout his entire life, has made no effort to hide his disgust towards all things Muggle?"

Draco went to argue, but Potter stopped him.

"I mean, surely this is all beneath you, being here in _Muggle_ accommodation." He began to mockingly tick off each point on his slender fingers. "No house elves, no magic, surrounded by _filthy_ Muggles who you, for some reason, have to act nice with – it makes one wonder what on earth you did to get sent here." He took an uninvited step into the suddenly claustrophobic bedroom, and caught sight of something that made him smile. "I see you brought your mirror though. How … quaint."

Draco ignored the dig about his mirror. What makes you think I've been sent here?" _How could Potter possibly know … unless … _Narrowing his eyes further, his suspicions began to mount up even more.

Potter tapped his chin with a slender finger. "Well," he drew out the word meaningfully, "I seem to recall quite a few confrontations with you and Hermione during the final months of the war. I believe most were along the lines that you would never willingly go into the Muggle world." He stopped, as if realising something. "In fact, wasn't your exact comment once, "_Bar the Imperius curse, I would never … never, on my own accord, step into any filthy Muggle breeding ground._"

"Touché, Potter," Draco mocked, hiding his initial surprise. He didn't think that Potter had taken such close notice of him during the war. He'd seem pretty preoccupied most of the time, grumpy with the Dark Lord, his mysterious quest, and just the world in general. "But I guess this is where I prove you wrong yet again. If the events after our sixth year have somehow slipped your mind, let me remind you that I _have _changed." Determined to not show how much it took to mention that time, he stopped, his face a guarded mask.

There once was a time Potter would have lunged at him for that brief mention of the aftermath of their sixth year, or at the very least hexed him into unconsciousness. The event he was hinting at was a very turbulent time for Potter, and it had irked him something shocking to know that Draco had been partly responsible for it.

But times had definitely changed, and so had Potter. The raven-haired man only blinked, his blank face still revealing nothing of what used to be so prominently showed during the war - especially during the formerly mentioned times.

"All I was trying to say Malfoy, is that it is an awfully suspicious sight to see you here," Potter said levelly, moving slightly sideways to lean against the wall. "I wouldn't go so far as to say you look comfortable amongst the Muggle population, but whatever the reason is for your presence here, it must be pretty damn important for you to go around without so much as that customary sneer on your face."

"I told you, I'm not here for any reason other than my own personal ones," Draco said through gritted teeth. _Why did this Gryffindork need to be so damned nosy?_ "And they are definitely none of your business."

Potter pushed himself off the wall, and for the first time he looked slightly irritated. "See, this is where you are dead wrong. It _is_ my business because you have suddenly barged your way in with _my_ friends and _my_ life." As he spoke, his shoulders stiffened defensively, and his green eyes narrowed darkly.

In as much of a bored tone as Draco could muster, he replied, "Here you go again, thinking that my life exists simply to intervene in yours. It's hardly a fact that I want nothing to do with you. Hell, we haven't exchanged words since the one year anniversary, and let me tell you that now is way too soon to be seeing your pot-head again."

"Then leave," Potter suggested simply, his gaze no less fierce. "There are other Muggle universities you can pretend to enrol at. Go _slum_ it elsewhere."

A deep childhood resentment had him indignantly snap back, "_You can't tell me what to do!_"

They stared at one another, Draco inwardly kicking himself for losing control, before Potter spoke again.

"Someone obviously can, and don't think that I'm dense enough to believe that that someone is you and _not_ the Ministry," At Draco's shocked expression, he added smugly, "I know it's not exactly public information, but I was made aware of your occupation before I left the wizarding world."

Draco's mouth dropped open. "What?" _How? The Ministry promised they'd keep it as quiet as possible!_

Potter actually had the nerve to smirk. "What it is you are apparently investigating I'm not going to pretend to know," he announced, "but just be warned, Malfoy."

At those words, he slowly approached Draco, his stance turning dangerous, and for one heart stopping moment, Draco's mind conjured up the nightmarish scene from the final battle … a lone figure standing over the Dark Lord's fallen body, screaming his rage. "I recommend that you stay out of my way – or you will find yourself as something far more horrifying than a bouncing ferret."

Turning his back on a furious Draco, Potter threw one last comment over his shoulder. "Oh and I'd also prefer it if you didn't tell anyone where I am. You wouldn't want any of the media to discover that you were _here_ of all places too, would you?"

Obviously not expecting any reply, the door shut softly behind him, his parting smirk branded in Draco's mind.

Draco glared at the door long after Potter had left, then let out a huff of frustration and turned to viciously kick the bed again.

"I _loathe_ that disgusting, scar-headed, pitiful excuse for a wizard. How no one has discovered him at this Muggle university before is beyond me …"

He trailed off as he thought of something truly Slytherin. _But to hell with Potter if he believes I'm going to listen to_ him.

Draco was conscious of a small, grim smile growing on his face.

"First stop – the Ministry."

* * *

* * *

Exiting the elevator and making an undignified dash up to the Auror Department early the next day, Draco arrived at Moody's door out of breath, and red-faced. Whether or not the red face was attributed to the mad dash or the fact that he was steaming with anger didn't really matter at that point. He'd had the whole night to stew about Potter's suspicious presence and was at the point where he just couldn't hold it in any longer. It was about time that Potter realised _nobody_ threatened him without facing the consequences.

_Oh and would those consequences be dire for Potter_, Draco thought with vicious glee. _After the Ministry becomes aware of his location and discovers that he could be turning into the next Dark Lord, he won't get a moment's peace for the next twenty years_. He stopped in front of Moody's office. _If he's lucky_.

Draco didn't bother with the usual pleasantries of knocking on his boss's door. Instead, he yanked the door handle down and pushed the door open with a loud resonating slam.

"Moody, I-" he started, only to be met with Moody's bent back as his boss chatted with someone in the floo.

He snapped his mouth close, irritated, and crossed his arms as he waited for Moody to turn around.

Eventually, the Auror did, mid-way through a hushed conversation with a floating head. Who it was, Draco couldn't tell, and truly didn't care. He wanted that person gone.

"What do you want, Malfoy?" Moody asked, foregoing any greetings. He sounded just as irritated as Draco. "Don't tell me you've given up on the case _already_?"

Draco's fists clenched. "No – I haven't given up," he snapped back, his anger returning with so much force he could hardly spit out the words. "I just have some information I believe would be of interest to you." That he pointedly wanted the person in the fireplace to be gone was loud and clear.

Moody delivered his reply condescendingly. "As you can see, I am currently in the middle of something. Can't you just wait until you hand up the full report of your _solved_ case?"

"No!" Draco shouted, infuriated. "I think it's high time _somebody_ you and the bloody Ministry worship finally fell from grace. I don't intend on waiting any longer," he added, just to make sure Moody got the point.

He did, and he didn't seem happy in the slightest. Confusion lined his harsh features. "If it's a problem you have with one of the Aurors or the Ministry employees down in the Muggle department, I don't want to hear it," he announced firmly, moving to once again face the fireplace. The figure muttered something that made Moody laugh, and then shake his head. "No, don't worry. I can deal with him later … Yes, I'm sure. Forget about him."

Draco opened his mouth to deliver a scathing reply, but a knock came at the door Draco had hastily left open and forgotten to close.

A silky voice followed the brisk knock.

"As requested, Alastor, I am here," the voice said, before, "_Draco_?"

Draco turned to see the voice and was as equally surprised as the other man. "Severus! What are you doing here?"

It was unusual to see the man anywhere near the Ministry, for, like Draco, they weren't too fond of any Death-Eaters, even if they were ex-Death Eaters who risked all to be spies for the Light.

Draco detected a brief sign of annoyance in the black eyes that met his. "I am here to ascertain a possible Dark Arts potion that one of your – _fellow-_," and here Severus managed to add just the right amount of dryness to it, "-Aurors discovered during a raid."

"Oh." Draco hadn't known Severus had to juggle his teaching duties on top of the odd job for a Ministry Severus clearly didn't like back. "Are you getting paid?"

Severus' expression was somewhat scornful towards his former student, before Draco's annoying boss, whom he had yet to voice his outrage to, interrupted their conversation.

"Whilst this _Slytherin_ reunion must be terribly exciting for you two," he said in a bored manner, dusting the floo powder off his hands. The head in the fireplace must have left through all the commotion. "I would like to remind you whose _office_ you are still in."

Severus stiffly inclined his head towards the Auror now seated behind his desk. "Alastor," he said again.

Draco hadn't heard that tone since Longbottom had been in Potions.

Moody's face took on a sinister edge as both eyes latched onto Severus' dark form; a disturbing smile crossing his lips. "Severus," he returned. "What a pleasant surprise to see you here - out of your dungeons."

"I found I had little choice in the matter," Severus replied tightly, obsidian eyes narrowing. "Minerva insisted."

"Well, you've always been good at following orders," Moody said slowly, still smiling oddly. It didn't suit the man at all; with the scars, both old and new, scouring his face, it made him look horribly disfigured. _Well, more so than usual, anyway._

Severus didn't reply, but Draco could see the resentment exuding from his old Potions Professor.

Moody's smile grew, obviously delighted with Severus' reluctant compliance. He signed a parchment and handing it to Snape. "Take that down to the Potions laboratory," he instructed, "and they'll give you a sample to take back with you."

Severus nodded, face blank, and moved to turn away. At the last second though, he thought better of it, and stopped to face Draco. "It has been quite some time since we last spent any time together," he remarked, keeping his voice low enough that the Head Auror wouldn't be able to hear. "Perhaps you could visit my quarters in the near future."

Draco nodded immediately. "Of course."

Snape's mouth twisted into his closest version of a smile, then took his leave. Draco watched him coast away with his trademark sweep of his robes.

"And why are you still standing in my office? I believe you've got a case to return to?"

Suddenly remembering where he was with a jolt, Draco scowled and turned back to Moody. "I don't–"

But yet again, Moody simply waved any excuses off. "I have no time for your childish antics today, Malfoy. You got a problem, solve it yourself. This is not the time for deciding you don't want to work alone."

"But you don't understa-"

"Not _now_." The tone was clearly final.

"Fine," Draco scowled, and spun around to exit the office. He had to restrain the urge to slam Moody's door shut as he stormed out.

How _dare_ that man not listen to what he was trying to say! How dare that ugly old man have the nerve to just wave him away like he was some house elf! Ugh, thwarted once again by the stupid Golden Boy.

Sneering at all the Aurors behind their comfy desk jobs, he turned to look to his right and saw the billowing robes of his godfather in the distance, making a brisk pace towards the Ministry potions laboratory. Draco hesitated only slightly before chasing after him. He might as well take Severus up on his invitation straight away. That way, he would be able tell someone he _did_ care about, since Moody refused to listen. Maybe his dearest friend could think up an even better way to disgrace their mutual nemesis.

"Severus!" he called out, making the shadowed figure slow slightly. "Hold on!"

* * *

* * *

Draco accompanied Severus down to the basement. Even after watching the Potions Master at work for over six years, it was still so fascinating to see the other man in his element; sweeping around the lab as though it were his, and collecting samples with an ease that even the best in his field envied.

As the minutes passed on though, Draco couldn't help but notice the hostile stares that followed their every move. It was as if he and Severus didn't belong at the bottom of their shoes, much less their lab.

"Doesn't it gall you how ungrateful the wizarding world acts towards us, even after all that we did for them during the war?" Draco wondered aloud, once they were free of the stifling basement. Together, they walked to the fireplaces, Severus having no problem with Draco joining him at his quarters at Hogwarts. Draco would have preferred to Apparate, but the potion in Severus' possession was too risky to attempt any Apparating, and Draco didn't want to inconvenience Severus any further. "Why do you put up with it?"

It was a question he'd been wondering for quite some time. Severus had been ostracised by many people since Dumbledore's death. Even though the former Headmaster had had Snape forge that Unbreakable Vow on his own orders because he had already been facing imminent death from some sort of injury, the only people that would now put up with him were a few members of the Order, and Headmistress McGonagall.

It was amazing that Severus _hadn't_ been thrown straight into Azkaban after the war, what with the world's attitude towards him. Most of the public had petitioned for his incarceration, only to be disappointed when the Wizengamot had instead dropped the case _and _reinstated him as Hogwarts resident Potions Master.

Severus kept his suddenly fierce looking gaze ahead. "As I said to that pathetic excuse of a Head Auror, I have little choice in the matter," he answered, and briefly looked down at his left forearm. Out of instinct, Draco looked down at his too. The Mark had almost disappeared, thanks to bloody Harry Potter, but Draco knew it would never truly be gone. "After the life I have left, it is either tolerating the inconsequential glares and feelings of people I hold no affection for, or a spacious spell in Azkaban."

Draco had been almost lucky in that respect. Everyone at the Ministry couldn't stand him, knowing what part he'd taken in Dumbledore's death, but they'd always shown more lenience towards him because he'd done it all to protect his family. For a while, there _had_ been the brief possibility that he could have ended up at Azkaban like his father, but that had been thrown off the chopping block because Dumbledore had given him his protection … from the grave. The extra brownie points he'd been given for converting to the Light side in such a spectacular fashion only two months later also helped tipped the scale for a non-prison life, and thankfully an Auror career at the Ministry.

Then again, the Ministry had been pretty desperate for Auror recruits at the time. It was more Draco's aptitude at the tests that had gotten him grudgingly accepted into the program, rather than his less than stellar reputation.

Draco felt his mouth contort into a grimace at the reminder, and turned his attention towards his current problem.

"Well Potter sacrificed far less in the war than you did, yet he gets the credit you deserve," he objected, still sore about his confrontation with his school nemesis.

Severus stopped short. "It's been a while since Potter's name has been included in one of our conversations," he commented, his casual tone belying the concern in his eyes. Draco looked away as they continued on their journey, but Severus persisted, evidently sensing something was wrong. "What brings up the subject of that particular wizard today?"

They turned a corner, finding themselves at the fireplaces, and a silence was mutually agreed upon until they'd successfully manoeuvred their way halfway up the lengthy queue already waiting to use the floo. Ignoring the ensuing complaints, Severus turned to him expectantly, obviously unwilling to forget the topic.

Suddenly feeling more tired than anything else, and not wanting anyone to overhear, Draco gave the tiniest shake of his head, and redirected their conversation towards Severus' classes. Severus, of course, was aware of the swift subject change, but answered with the usual insults of every Gryffindor, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff student in his classes. In no time at all, they found themselves at the head of the queue.

Severus generously motioned for Draco to step into the fireplace, giving him a telling look, and doing so, Draco dryly replied, "Don't worry, I will tell you, but I guarantee that what you are about to hear will shock the robes off you." At Severus' clearly piqued expression, Draco smirked, and grabbed a handful of floo powder. "_Snape's Quarters_."

* * *

* * *

Long after Draco finished his tale, Severus stood thoughtfully by his fireplace, looking into the flames.

"Hmmm," he said after a lengthy silence. He turned to Draco who was comfortably sprawled on his lounge. "So you intend to inform the Ministry that their precious saviour has turned dark?" Draco nodded, and Severus pushed on. "Do you actually believe Potter to be the origin of these so-called dark activities?"

Draco picked at a stray thread on his _tee_ shirt, before snipping it off with his wand. "I'm not sure at the moment," he replied honestly, looking up, "but it's too much for it to be a coincidence. Don't you think so?"

Severus frowned in Draco's direction, but was obviously still deep in thought. "There does seem to be … cause for your assumptions," he conceded, "but something about the situation you found him in doesn't strike me as being very believable."

Draco loved how Severus' mind worked, always being one step ahead. "What doesn't seem believable?"

"Do you have the list of what dark spells were detected?" Severus asked instead, sounding business-like.

"Not here with me, but they were all pretty basic in nature. Nothing to cause an outcry of the Dark Lord's return."

Severus' eyes gleamed in satisfaction. "Exactly."

Prior to the conversation, thoughts along the same line had reluctantly crossed Draco's mind.

"So you think that because the dark spells weren't particularly powerful, it couldn't possibly be Potter?" he asked, but then shook his head before Severus could answer. Something had just come to him. "No, you're wrong there. Maybe Potter is only just learning the Dark Arts."

He looked at Severus who was shaking his own head. _That's right, Severus would know, being Potter's teacher during the latter stages of the war._ _He'd even been there with Potter during those final tumultuous months. _He pushed on. "Or maybe – maybe he's been able to shield the darker spells from the Ministry, and became a bit careless when it came to the less important ones." Again he looked up to see what Severus thought.

Severus took a while to speak again, and the words that did spill out were quite uncharacteristic for the usually dour man. "Forgive me, Draco, but in the time I did spend in that – unfortunate brat's presence, I could not fail to see how much the Gryffindor did resent his status in our world," Some of his old self resurfaced as a sneer crossed his face. "Perhaps the simplest theory would be that he merely returned to his Muggle roots."

Draco gasped, aghast at the very possibility. _Had he just heard right_? "You can't possibly believe-"

"It is possible." Severus interjected.

"You just don't want to accept the possibility that Potter's turning dark," Draco cried, the injustice that his closest friend mightn't believe him hitting him deep. "I mean, you weren't there. You didn't _see_ him – you – you didn't _hear_ him when he talked to me. He _threatened me_, Severus. Practically blackmailed me into keeping quiet about his whereabouts."

"I believe that if I had disappeared from the wizarding world for the sole purpose of some privacy, I would not have been particularly pleasant to any soul who could effectively threaten that."

_Meaning he'd poison the poor soul at the first opportunity_. "But it's not just that," Draco argued aloud. "The whole time he just looked so – so emotionless. Not even after the final battle did he look anything like that, and – well, I don't know." With a sigh, Draco threw himself down on Severus' lounge again, not noticing until then that he had stood up during his display. "I admit that - seeing him brought up a lot of memories I'd rather forget."

No sign of surprise flickered across Severus' face, and Draco realised he had already suspected as much.

"Your father." It wasn't so much a question as it was a statement.

"Yes, my father," Draco sniped, then waved his apology. He sighed wearily, dragging a pale hand across his pained face. "I know that what my father – did to Potter wasn't particularly pleasant, but just seeing _him_ alive when my father isn't … it just hits hard, I guess. He wouldn't have even been on the run at that time if Potter hadn't caught him back in fifth year."

Severus moved to sit across from him; black eyes alight with complete understanding.

"Through our hardships, it is human nature to search for someone to place the blame upon," he started. "Some find it easy to blame the highest levels of authority in society, others the religion they follow. Many simply search for the people they already have taken a disliking too. In the case of your father's downfall, it is easier to place the blame on Potter as not only did he represent everything you despised, but he was the figurehead of the war – and ultimately the one whom the Dark Lord focused all his attention on."

Severus gave Draco no opportunity to interrupt as he continued. "There was a time where I fell into that trap, laying all the blame I could muster onto the young Gryffindor's shoulders. Blame for all that had occurred in my childhood, and blame for where my life had eventually led. It wasn't until I discovered that I had been treating him the same way his predecessor had treated me did I realise that I had become an embittered, old man, intent on inflicting endless pain onto an innocent boy who had never known the reason _why_."

Draco reluctantly raised his eyes. "But you still hated him, right? Surely, there were some things that you hated about him that weren't because of his father?"

Severus chuckled. "Yes, indeed there was, Draco. His recklessness and blind stupidity towards the obvious were often the causes of my ire, on top of his penchant for breaking every major rule that applied to him."

Reaching out to gently enclose Draco's hands with his, he sobered slightly, returning to their previous conversation. "I don't want you to turn out like that, Draco," he beseeched, more earnest than Draco had ever seen him. "Living a life that's one purpose is for revenge can only bring you a half-life filled with anger, bitterness and loneliness. I can personally attest to that and it is an outcome that I wish you not to follow."

"I-" Draco opened his mouth, but found he had nothing that he could possibly say in return.

This was the most Severus had shared with him since the Potions Master's birthday three years before. He flexed his hands slightly, still in Severus' secure grip, and nodded. He could understand that. It mightn't mean he would hold off on telling the Ministry about Potter, but he wouldn't let the anger consume him so much … or the hatred.

This seemed to spur Severus on. "Now, we have only touched upon this before, but it must be said that by the time he escaped from Azkaban in that mass breakout, your father was a desperate man. That one year inside, regardless of his abilities and blood, definitely took its toll on him. If you add this situation with the possibility that his long absence had distanced himself from the Dark Lord's favour, he was only a shell of his former self … an extremely paranoid and unsettled shell."

Severus shifted to the edge of his seat, and gripped Draco's hands even tighter. "It was ultimately his desire to be back in good graces with the Dark Lord that pushed him to his actions, not his desire for revenge against Potter." He released Draco's hands with a sigh. "It is our choices that define us, Draco. Lucius made his, just as you yourself made your own."

Severus was getting dangerously close to a topic they'd long agreed never to bring up again.

"Don't – just don't remind me," he replied curtly, the '_ever again,_' remaining unsaid, but heard nonetheless. It was always going to remain an off-limits topic between the two of them. The one time it had been discussed was one time too many in Draco's books.

Thankfully, Severus changed the topic, although Draco could have lived without what it was changed to. "I couldn't help but overhear that with this case, your own research into your father's death has been brought to a sudden halt. I take it that my lengthy speech just now hasn't convinced you to put this search behind you as well as your personal vendetta against Potter."

"You'd be right," And as Draco said it, he truly meant it. He wouldn't completely disregard what Severus had said – obviously he knew it was his father who was to blame for the way his life had turned out – but there was no way he was going to ever drop his father's investigation. "I'm not going to rest until I find out who murdered him, so as soon as I solve this stupid case, I'll be back at the Ministry to continue where I left off."

"And where would that be?"

"Well, the latest news that I've managed to dig up from an unnamed source, indicated that my father had visited Knockturn Alley briefly on the day of his death, and was seen buying some items I haven't yet been able to discover the identity of. I think that if I find out what they were-" He was prepared to share more of his previous discoveries but was cut off by Severus.

"I know you don't want to hear this, but for once I agree with the Ministry. Delving into your father's death can only worsen matters. What will you do when you find out who killed Lucius?"

"I can't give up - I _won't_ give up. I am going to find out who killed my father if it's the last thing I do." Draco glared at Snape. "Maybe if you actually helped me by getting into contact with-"

"You know I can't, Draco. We have been over this -"

"Yes, we've been over it a million times. You wouldn't be of much help. You are no longer in the position to get in touch with the _old_ crowd. I thought that maybe, for once, you'd see things my way and actually want to help." Draco laughed bitterly. "Silly of me to still think that, right?"

Severus ignored the sarcasm. "Disregarding your practically non-existent relationship with your father at that time, I can see that your father's death upset you greatly," he said. "However, you need to understand that you cannot act the vigilante – especially for your father. He was my friend once too, and it was a deeply painful experience for me to be forced into revealing to him my status as a spy. As painful as it would have been when you did what you did."

Severus was treading on dangerous ground again, and Draco snapped, the events of the past few weeks proving too much for him to handle.

"I get it all right. Can't you just drop that damned subject?" he shouted, infuriated. "What happened five years ago doesn't need to be dredged up every time you want to make a bloody point."

A faint pink coloured Snape's pallid cheeks and Draco immediately felt ashamed for what he'd said.

Severus hadn't had things any easier than he. Being outed as a spy after the extreme lengths he'd taken to keep his true identity safe, losing the trust of someone who was once his closest confidante – it was a difficult subject for him too.

Managing to curb his anger enough that he was able to meet Severus' eyes for the shortest of moments, he mumbled a short apology, and the excuse that he needed to leave and return back to the Muggle university.

Severus stopped him as he reached for the bowl of floo powder.

"One last piece of advice about your case, Draco," he said, referring to their initial conversation. As Draco slowly faced him, he was surprised to see any anger strangely absent from the man's direct gaze. Just resignation. "Whether or not you believe Potter is involved, I can't imagine that the Ministry will take too well with you accusing our world's saviour of disappearing to practice dark magic. Your interaction with them lately has been sketchy to say the least, and if you are wrong about this, yet another black mark will be etched to your name."

"What do you think I should do then?" Draco challenged.

"Put aside your school animosity long enough to collect enough irrefutable evidence, before damning him."

"All right," Draco relented tiredly, after a moment's contemplation. He really didn't like arguing with Severus – the Potions Master was the only friend he truly had left. "I'll wait until I have enough on him, _then _I'll inform the Ministry. At least then I can make sure I get all the credit for it," he added.

Snape nodded, looking grimly satisfied. He waved a vague, potion-stained hand towards the fireplace. "Now, is there anything else I can help you with? I do have a potion that needs – assessing."

A thought popped into Draco's head. "Uh yeah. Have any spare poisons lying around?" he asked, only half-joking.

* * *

* * *

Harry was standing in the middle of some sort of ruins; his body partially hidden behind a large, thick crumbling column. All around him, a fierce battle raged on; shouts and curses whizzing through the air with such force his frazzled hair stood even more on end than usual. Taking a hesitant step away from his hiding place, he couldn't explain it, but an odd sense of wrongness permeated every inch of his body. There was something distinctly _off_ with the whole situation, and there was a niggling feeling that he should know exactly what it was.

Helpless, he watched from afar as someone he knew fell soundlessly to the ground, struck by a barrage of hexes from some very familiar masked wizards.

_This wasn't mean to happen_, he suddenly realised as he caught sight of another masked wizard seemingly emerging from nowhere. There were too many. _Something's gone horribly wrong_.

"Harry!"

The sound of his name being desperately called out above the battle seemed to suddenly include him in the chaos. He was forced to deflect a fierce looking red hex coming straight at him, before retaliating with a few of his own. Only after he knocked over a masked figure on his left was he able to look over his shoulder and see a ginger-haired girl weaving through the battlefield.

Realising she was heading over to him, he helped shield her way, shooting down a few more attacks aimed at her until she reached his side.

Gasping for breath, she held one hand over her chest, the other still holding her wand and firing off occasional curses. "Oh god, Harry. Everything's gone wrong," she managed to force out.

Mechanically, Harry deflected another hex and shot one death eater to the ground. "I know," he shouted above the noise. "It was a trap- _stupefy_!"

It was only as the words left his mouth did he realise that it was the truth.

Another Death Eater went down and he turned to Ginny when he heard a choked sob. "What is it?"

He was surprised to see tears in her eyes as she slumped boneless against the column. "Oh – I - I just saw Kerry," she cried, and the way she said it made Harry fear the worst. "He – he's dead and – so is – _oh_ _Merlin_–" She closed her eyes briefly, her voice breaking as if she couldn't bear to say the next words. "I c-can't even … Percy - Percy's-"

Even in his dreams, she never got to finish that sentence.

Hitting her from behind, and in front of Harry's very own stricken eyes, was a light; a bright, disastrously green light.

Mouth still partially open, as if mid-word, and unshed tears still in her grief-stricken eyes, Ginny's whole body froze in one solitary action. Everything else seemed to freeze in that moment too, Harry's heart included, and he could only watch on in despair as the second passed and Ginny began to make her slow descent towards the ground.

Unable or unwilling to process what had just happened, Harry forgot all else and immediately rushed to catch her. His arms strained with the staggering effort as the full force of her weight hit him, and even though he tried his hardest, both their weights had him stumbling to the ground only moments later.

He hit the ground first with a painful thump, Ginny landing on top of him; face down in his lap in a way that would have looked inappropriate were the situation not so grim. Shaking uncontrollably, he spoke her name - as softly as the way his fingers gently combed through her ginger hair - and wished with all his might for an answer.

A sudden and fierce gust of wind rustled the blades of grass by his feet and lifted the fringe from his cursed forehead, but the girl still face down in his lap didn't move an inch.

Countless tears dropped onto her motionless head, and her name grew louder and louder in desperation, until he was screaming with all his might.

But still, she neither moved, nor replied to his calls.

Slow footsteps approached his position from all directions; unhurried, unworried steps.

He didn't have to wait long to find out who they belonged to. A shadow soon loomed over his shoulder, and then another, and another. Reluctantly, he raised his head to see five Death Eaters surrounding him with their wands pointed directly at his chest.

"It's over, Potter," one said, and the triumph in his voice was clear for all to hear. The others joined the mad laughter and the chanting that followed. "We've got Potter! We've got Potter!"

Harry moaned a soft cry of denial, lowering his head back down to Ginny, dear, dear Ginevre Weasley. _It's not over – she can't be dead … just can't._ He rocked her body close to his. She was still so warm, surely there was the possibly that she wasn't – _she'd survived against all odds before. They all had -_

"Drop the girl," ordered the same death eater who seemed to be in charge, now sounding slightly impatient. His wand jabbed harshly into Harry's left shoulder, a harsh, brutal wake-up call that Harry wanted so badly to ignore. "And stand up slowly."

_No_, he wanted to shout – wanted to _scream_ it to the world. _I need – I need to stay with my closest friend's sister – need to see her beautiful face, and that cheeky grin so similar to the twins…_

Tears now streaming freely down his face, the shouts of the death eaters faded into the background as he reached out shaking hands and gently rolled her over onto her back.

Only to reveal a motionless figure with straight white-blonde hair, and cold grey eyes staring glass-like into Harry's face …

"Noooooooo!"

Flailing and screaming like a man possessed, James Evansson, formerly Harry Potter, woke with a start.

Taking great heaving breaths, he fought to take control of his speeding heart. When that proved unsuccessful, he shakily pushed himself up into a sitting position and automatically reached out a hand to fumble on his bedside table.

Finding nothing but his watch and an upturned glass of water, Harry realised all too late that in his disturbed state of mind, he had been searching for something he kept locked away in a box at the very back of his cupboard. Something that was only to be taken out in his darkest times.

His wand.

Tearing his eyes away from the cupboard, he dropped his head into his hands, still trembling. "Damn you, Malfoy," he whispered brokenly. "Why did _you_, of all people, have to come back into my life now?"

_tbc_

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**A/N:** As usual, before I go, I want to thank all those who have reviewed my story so far. It's fairly obvious that I love any reviews that come my way, as I really would like to know what others think of my writing style … whether you think it's full of grammatical errors, or my sentences are confusing the hell out of everyone, or whatever, lol. 

Anyway, I'll leave you with a tantalising hint at what's in the next chapter … another POV from Harry … more Muggle appliances for Draco to deal with ... and some familiar faces make a brief appearance … he he, intrigued?


	4. Investigating Draco Style

**Title:** To do the Unspeakable

**Author:** mony2208

**Pairing:** Harry/Draco

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**Summary:** Post-Hogwarts. Auror Draco Malfoy is on the verge of being fired. Given one last chance to redeem himself, he is sent to investigate dark activities at a Muggle university, where he stumbles upon a certain saviour who disappeared from the wizarding world two years ago.

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* * *

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**To do the Unspeakable**

* * *

_**Chapter Four**_

The next morning, Draco forced his legs to carry him out of his bedroom and into the kitchen. Marty was already sitting down, happily munching on some Muggle breakfast, but he stopped mid-chew when Draco collapsed on a stool beside him.

"Gee Drake, you look like shit."

How Draco _loved _a Muggle's sense of subtlety.

"Thanks," he replied dryly, covering his mouth as he stifled a yawn. He looked around for something to eat, hoping rather foolishly that food would suddenly appear on the table. It was times like this he missed the presence of his house elves.

Apparently sensing Draco's hunger, Marty pushed over his half eaten cereal to Draco, who hid his disgust. He wasn't quite that desperate yet. "No seriously, did you get _any _sleep?"

As a matter of fact, Draco hadn't. Last night had been the first night he'd had to go to sleep sober, and his pathetic excuse for a bed had him feeling as though he'd just spent the entire night on the floor of his family's dungeon. Add the effect on his subconscious after seeing Potter – his dreams interspersed with memories much better forgotten – and he'd had an absolute beauty of a night.

"Stupid bed kept me up," Draco grumbled, staring down at the disgusting pieces of food floating at the top of bowl. He poked one with his finger and watched with a disinterested air as it disappeared from the surface then popped back up again.

Marty took back the bowl when it became clear Draco wasn't interested in eating it.

"Well you did get back pretty late," he pointed out. "Where were you anyway?" he asked through a mouthful. "Tyler told me that you skipped all your classes as well."

Thinking back on what he had done after leaving Severus' quarters, Draco decided to tell a half-truth. "I had an emergency with a – a close friend of the family."

"So he or she okay?"

Draco forced his eyes to remain open. _Merlin, he was so tired. _"Hmm?"

Marty smiled. "Your family friend. They all right now?"

"Uh – yeah. Sort of," he answered, then had a brilliant thought. "Though it could warrant further absences in the near future." _That might assuage any suspicions Marty and the muggles might have whenever I suddenly disappear … which is more than Potter did by the looks of things._

"Oh." Marty's brows creased in concern. "I'm sorry to hear that."

Feeling the slightest twinge of guilt, Draco waved off the concerns and stood up. "Well - I better go get ready for class, or I'll be late."

A mixture of milk and half chewed chunks of food suddenly spewed forth from Marty's mouth.

"Damn," he swore, wiping his mouth as he stood up. "I forgot I was meant to see Lawers about my assignment before class started. I'll see you when you get back from your classes, okay?"

Draco held back a smile. "Sure."

Giving him one last grin, Marty tossed his plate into the already full sink and dashed to the bedroom. Draco didn't even make it to his bedroom before the slightly ruffled looking Muggle hopped back out again; zipping up his pants with one hand, and clumsily buttoning up his untucked shirt with the other.

As Draco was treated to a pleasant view of his roommate's smooth, hairless chest, Marty headed to the front door. "Bye!" he shouted, grabbing his coat and bag, then exiting the small apartment with a loud slam of the door.

Draco watched him go with a short laugh, and stepped into his bedroom to get ready for the day. But despite what he had told Marty, it wasn't classes that he was preparing for.

He had other business to attend to first.

* * *

* * *

The day began quite similar for another wizard in the building.

Although luckily for Harry, by the time he'd emerged from his bedroom, he and his roommate Tyler had only exchanged a few words before his dear Muggle friend had left for class.

In the privacy of his kitchen – like the rest of the student accommodation, a spitting image of Marty's – Harry slumped on a stool, and allowed his face to show the utter exhaustion that the previous night had wrought.

It was hardly a surprise that after the first horrid nightmare he'd endured, he had been unable to close his eyes again, let alone drift back into any sort of slumber.

Lying there in the darkness, staring blankly up at the chipped ceiling, his mind had conjured up a whirlwind of images he'd managed to – for quite some time - hold at bay. Ginny's eyes, as empty and hollow as Harry's heart, blankly staring back up at him; the long, cold hours huddled alone with only throbbing pain and the overwhelming desire for revenge to keep him from succumbing to the darkness; the funeral three weeks later, watching as a wave of red collapsed in front of two tombstones that held nothing but words.

He swallowed heavily at the last remembrance. Despite all his abilities and powers, he hadn't been able to bring Ginny or Percy's bodies back with him. By the time he had managed to escape the Death Eaters' grasps, their bodies and all the others had been crudely disposed of - never to be seen again.

_Damn_ _it_ _all_. He slammed a fist down onto the bench, making the rickety thing wobble precariously. _If it wasn't for bloody Drake Malloy, I wouldn't even be harping on these stupid memories._

The appearance of the little cretin had been unnerving, to say the least. In this little world away from worlds, he'd encountered hardly anyone from his magical life, and the ones he _had _were only to be expected.

Until now.

Harry cursed the wizard again. It was lucky he had been trained so efficiently in hiding the most damaging of his emotions, otherwise he knew very well that his face would have mirrored Malfoy's; every facet of his shock and horror being displayed so clearly on that pale, pointy face.

But, truth be told, his gob smacked expression would have been for _completely_ different reasons than Malfoy's. As he had told the smarmy git, Harry was not in the dark towards his occupation at the Ministry. He knew _exactly_ what he was, had known for years.

An Auror.

Harry heaved a great sigh as he wearily pushed himself up from the table. Why they'd sent _him_, of all Aurors', to investigate anything here was beyond Harry, but there was one thing he _was _certain of.

There was no way Malfoy was going to ruin the one thing his mind had been so set upon, the one thing that Harry was absolutely _determined_ to obtain no matter how he went about doing so.

Revenge.

* * *

* * *

Wand discreetly hidden up his sleeve, Draco slowly weaved his way around the towering buildings of the university. Occasionally, he would stop, bend over to fuss with some bushes or scrub by his feet, and then straighten up again to continue along his way.

To anyone closely watching the blonde-haired man, his actions would have been described as anything _but_ innocent; through thick bushes and over garden barriers he went, making an invisible path of his own as he disregarded the bitumen footpaths and various warning signs ("Keep off gardens,") set metres away.

Fortunately, Draco had become highly skilled over the years in Muggle repelling charms. Any suspicious Muggle looking his way suddenly remembered an assignment that needed to be finished, or another place they ought to be.

Over an hour after he had started his unusual trail, Draco - having just about walked what he hoped had been a perfect oval-shape – finished up on the outskirts of the university, along a row of shabby looking shops.

Wiping a sweaty brow, Draco zipped up his bag, and with his foot, gently nudged the last cleverly camouflaged beacon. When it didn't move a budge from its hiding place - a crack in the cement sidewalk – Draco allowed a satisfied, albeit tired smirk to cross his face.

_All done._

Still, there was one important test to see if his long trek had been worth it - to see if they worked.

Pulling out a simple piece of parchment that he'd had linked to each and every beacon he'd placed along the way, Draco gently pressed the tip of his wand on the surface and mumbled the password.

Instantly, a perfect layout of the university grounds and its surroundings began to appear on the parchment … and at equal intervals, in a perfect elliptical shape, sixteen red dots flashed.

Draco wiped it clean with a smile, not needing any other confirmation. _Perfect_. Tracking down an old acquaintance of his father's yesterday afternoon _hadn't _been a waste, after all. Not only did he have in his grasp the perfect dark art tracing system, but now - unlike the useless Ministry - when the next dark activity occurred, he'd know _exactly _where it was happening – no five mile guesswork - and what was being cast.

The knowledge that it wasn't entirely legal in the Ministry's eyes barely troubled him – especially the way he'd obtained them - and still smiling, he tucked the parchment away in his pocket, and walked back to the unorderly clutter of buildings. He had just one more job for the day, then he'd be well on his way to solving this ridiculous case.

* * *

* * *

"-I'll talk to you later, 'kay?"

Harry nodded, and adjusted the tight, almost superman-like grip on his books as he watched Tyler walk away.

He wasn't the least bit surprised that his flatmate had heard his episode from the night before, the walls between their rooms were paper-thin, but he really should have known that it wasn't going to be overlooked anytime soon. It had never been before.

Although his friend hadn't actually approached the matter of hearing Harry's ear splitting screams yet another night, it was clear that he _wanted _to. Was itching too, in fact. The frequent looks of concern shot in his direction was a dead giveaway, as well as the sudden appearance of his friend outside of _all_ Harry's classes. The day wasn't even half over, yet he'd bumped into Tyler a total of five times, and that wasn't even including their latest meeting, which had Harry coerced into meeting the gang for an impromptu lunch in an hour's time.

And it wasn't an innocent lunch his friends had in mind. By now, Tyler had already informed Marty about the reappearance of his nightmares, and the two had taken it upon themselves to psychoanalyse every titbit of his life he'd inadvertently revealed to them over the year and a half he'd been there.

Harry sighed, feeling unusually high-strung as he strode down the hallway. The stress of Malfoy's untimely presence and now _this _was wreaking havoc on his already frayed nerves. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so … off-balanced. In his literature class, he'd been so out of it that his lecturer had called upon his name no less than three times to get a reply – which had been incoherent and incorrect to say the least.

What was worse was the fact that things hadn't even _begun_ to heat up.

Some things that even Harry could never have begun to imagine.

* * *

* * *

"Hi, how can I help you?"

Draco refrained from wincing at the overly cheerful tone of the perky receptionist. "Good afternoon, I was just wondering where all the student records are placed," he answered smartly.

The young woman's expression changed into one of dismay. "Oh – I can't be disclosing any information like _that_."

Undeterred, Draco leant forward onto the high desk to see the woman's nametag, then flashed one of his most charming smiles. "Of course, of course," he said easily. "What I meant to say, dear _Lola, _was who do I have to see about modifying _my_ school records? I'm new here, you see, and I haven't really had anyone to give me a grand tour."

A blush infused Lola's cheeks, and her sickeningly sweet doe-eyes dropped to the ground. "Um – t-that would be Martha Lewis," she replied shyly. "She manages all the records in her office, which is just down the hall." She pointed a finger to her right.

Draco's smile grew wider and he pushed himself off the counter. "Thank you, Lola. You've been most helpful."

He turned to leave, but Lola called out to him. "Wait – I forgot to say that she is at lunch right now."

_Even better._

"You're a godsend, Lola." He winked at her, before walking down to the office she had pointed. He could hear her giggles as he walked away.

It didn't take long to locate the office Lola had pointed out, and true to the woman's word, the office seemed to be empty as he peered through a small crack in the door.

Just to be safe, he knocked first.

When no answer came, Draco cautiously looked around the hallway before unlocking the door with his wand, and quickly stepping inside.

The office itself was hardly worth mentioning. The Weasel's father had had more space in his old office than this pitiful one, and less clutter too … which was saying something.

His eyes roamed around what mess lay in front of him, at a complete loss as to where to start. In the end, he decided to head towards the overflowing filing cabinets. Hopefully, those would be arranged in some sort of order.

He struck success in the second drawer.

Student Records.

Draco rifled through the many files, his fingers growing more impatient in their motions. "E … E … E … where is the E file?" _And come to think of it, where are all the files from A-M? _He looked again, but only found files from Matthews onwards.

Stopping, as he realised the futility of continuing for something that wasn't there, Draco collapsed on a nearby chair.

_Thwarted_ _again!_

Unless …

Catching sight of a very familiar looking box, Draco drew his body up with a snap.

A computer!

They'd only spent half a day pouring through "PC for dummies," but Draco had a brief idea of what a computer was useful for … including for storing information. Perhaps they were in the process of moving the files onto the computer. At least that would explain why only N-Z could be found by hand.

Pushing the fascinating rolling chair over to the computer, Draco excitedly sat himself down in front of it.

The screen was black, but Draco didn't let it deter him. He quickly pulled out his wand and started to prod the odd button.

Nothing happened.

He scowled. "_Activus_," he commanded the computer.

His reflection continued to stare back at him.

_Well,_ Draco threw back his head in annoyance, _obviously this dratted Muggle invention is defective._

Eventually, he struck lucky, finding an odd round button that instantly whirred the computer to life.

He jiggled one leg impatiently as he waited for it to finish starting up.

'Welcome M. Lewis,' it said in big letters. 'Please fill in your password.'

Draco's face fell. "Password … password…" _How on earth was he going to guess at a Muggle's password?_

He decided to try anyway, typing in the first thing that came to mind "Uhh – _Martha …_'

Invalid.

'_Lewis_.'

Invalid.

'_Files._'

Invalid.

'_IamastupidMuggle …_'

Invalid.

Frustration starting to build, Draco swept his eyes over the room, hoping that something in the room would just stand out.

A couple of seconds later, they stopped at a large billboard, where it seemed the only vestiges of this pathetic Muggle's life lay. He had to groan at the sight of the two pinned up photos of a positively hideous looking cat snarling back at him.

Squinting, his eyes tried to make out the name engraved on the disgustingly pink studded collar in one of the photos, but the letters were too small for him to guess.

Taking another cautious look at the door, Draco pointed his wand at the picture. _"Engorgio_."

The name easily came into view. _Surely, it couldn't be that. _A snort passed his lips, but figuring it couldn't hurt, Draco turned back to the computer and slowly typed it in.

"W-h-i-s-k-e-r-s."

An anxious moment passed. Then two words flashed in front of his eyes.

_Access Given._

He made a noise between relief and incredulity.

It never ceased to amaze Draco how absolutely clueless Muggles were. What was the point of a password when literally anyone could guess it? A personal ward was much more effective, and in most cases were nigh unbreakable. Draco personally preferred the wards with a little bite. The ones around his family mansion had been devilishly delightful, temporarily turning any idiotic trespassers into garden gnomes. It had never been clear to Draco just how long they remained as garden gnomes, but he'd always enjoyed watching the house elves as they threw them over the back hedge.

It was a pity Granger had expanded her S.P.E.W. wealth into gnome welfare a year ago, and had outlawed such treatment.

With a snicker, Draco set himself to work on the computer.

Fifteen minutes later, he encountered another problem, though this one proved to be much more difficult to solve.

Draco scratched his chin in thought. _Now, how to get the file out of this box ... _He'd already pressed a few random buttons, and moved around the weird mousey looking object, but nothing had seemed to work.

Irritated, Draco stood up to look at the back of the computer. It did no use though. All he could see were a bunch of complicated looking – not to mention tangled – chords plugged into his favourite Muggle invention … the outlet.

It was a given that Draco gave the evil outlet a wide berth, and he sat back down again with an annoyed grunt. His wand pressed uncomfortably into his side as he leant back against the seat, but it provided him with an idea.

Maybe, he could cheat a little … maybe he could just wave his wand over the screen, and use that nifty little copying charm he'd seen in a book he'd read in Severus's extensive library.

Surely, it couldn't hurt if he tried, he thought, a bit impatiently. And he really was wasting his time there if he couldn't get what he came for.

His mind already decided, Draco's wand was swiftly seized from his sleeve, and pointed directly at the computer. He waved it carefully, with the required sweep of the object (as the book had said), and spoke the incantation.

"_Aemulari_ _imago_."

At first, nothing happened. Then …

_Bang!_

Amidst the billowing clouds of black smoke that suddenly filled the room, Draco sat in stunned disbelief. Grey ash made its gentle descent from above, softly landing on his face, and on his still upraised wand arm.

Draco blinked them away from his eyes, pulling himself together enough to extinguish his smouldering pants. As an afterthought, he shot another charm to clear away the smoke that filled the room.

Without the thick cloud of smoke present to disguise the true extent of what Draco had done, he was now faced with the unpleasant, burnt mess that used to be the Muggle's computer.

There was no doubt about it. The computer was completely destroyed.

Cursing himself, Draco dropped his wand in his lap, and lowered his head in his hands in hopelessness. _He'd sunk to a new low._

A shriek unexpectedly came from behind him. "What are you doing back here?"

Draco snapped his head up in horror. There, standing in the doorway, was a very old, and very cross-looking woman. Too slow to conceal his wand, or hide the mess he'd made, he could only watch in growing dread as the woman's gaze first took in his presence, then followed the trail of debris over to her still smouldering mess of a computer.

The woman's reaction was nothing if not shrill. "And what have you done to my _computer_?"

"Well – uh – _I_-" Draco desperately searched his mind for an excuse, any excuse. Seconds passed where he couldn't find one, and the woman watched him sceptically. "Uh – you see, I was just – er…" The woman inched for the telly phone by the door, and Draco's tenuous patience snapped. "Oh for cripes sake. _Obliviate._"

Hand halfway to the telly phone, the woman froze; her face going blank for the briefest of moments.

But it was long enough for Draco to successfully modify her memory, and quickly slink away from the office. _Oh well, _he sighed dishearteningly, faking a smile for Lolly as he walked past. _I can always come back later …_

* * *

* * *

Despite the days that passed, the disastrous computer incident was not quick to leave Draco's conscience. For one thing, he did not revel in nor accept any sort of failure on his part. Malfoys' had and would never take too well with mistakes. The other thing was much worse. Somebody had started an annoying little rumour about the mishap, and it had quickly spread around the entire university.

If there was anything worse than screwing up, it was having no choice but to be constantly _reminded_ of that screw-up.

And Potter was only too willing to be the one to _remind _him. Ever since the infuriating man had caught wind of the rumour, he'd been sending knowing looks Draco's way at every possible opportunity.

That was why it took exactly one week for Draco to swallow his pride and accept defeat. It was excruciating admitting that he was slightly clueless about something, but nonetheless, for one afternoon, he subjected himself to a few hours of torture at the Ministry of Magic's Muggle Department, where he had a more detailed crash course on computers.

Not that it had done much good in the end. Draco had grown so sick of their useless teaching that whilst his instructors had turned their backs on him, he'd quietly snuck out of the room with the Department's copy of '_PC for dummies_.'

The book safely tucked under his arm, Draco rushed towards the elevators. He had a class to attend in less than an hour, and the last thing he needed was to miss yet another class.

His pace quickened when he saw an elevator opening just ahead, dodging other Ministry workers as they walked past. As a result, Draco completely failed to notice the person emerging from a nearby adjacent hallway whose movements were just as hurried.

They collided rather harshly in their haste, both flying backwards in spectacular fashion. Draco landed heavily on his prized rear, and the other went stumbling backwards into a wall although somehow managing to remain upright.

When no hand was offered to help him back up again, and no apologies spoken, Draco looked up furiously, immediately recognising the person standing in front of him.

"Parkins," Draco hissed at the familiar face. They'd never had reason to talk before, but clearly this was where that ended. He had a bone to pick with him. "Why don't you watch where you're going?"

Parkins sneered viciously, flicking his wand at the fallen files he must have been holding prior to the collision. They all flew neatly into his hands, and he aimed a triumphant leer at Draco.

Draco looked down to see his book by his feet, and muttered his own levitating charm, putting slightly more force into the wave of his wand than was necessary. Instantly, the book shot off the ground and up towards Draco. However, with the extra force given to the spell, it didn't land in his hands, but ricocheted smartly off his chest.

Too slow to catch it, Draco's fingertips just grazed the spine, before it went falling back down to the ground to land with a thud at his feet.

Staring at the book, the moment irrationally reminded Draco of every Quidditch match he'd ever played against Potter.

Parkins snickered, making Draco realise the Unspeakable was still there.

"Never quite there, were you Malfoy?" he remarked airily when Draco looked up.

Draco scowled. It was as though the Unspeakable had just read his mind. "I don't have any idea what you're talking about." He levitated his book, this time successfully, then moved to brush past the infuriating man. "And if you'll excuse me."

Parkins allowed Draco to pass, his nose high in the air. "By all means, Malfoy." He replied, his voice saccharine sweet. "You always did run when the going got tough."

Draco stopped short. "What did you just say?" he asked, voice deadly. Slowly, he turned around, two pale hands clenching into tight fists.

"You've heard of the old Muggle saying, haven't you? 'When the going gets tough, the tough get going'?" A smirk appeared on Parkins' face. "I think we both know that you were never one of the tough ones …" he trailed off suggestively.

"_How dare you imply that I ran!_" Draco hadn't been this angry for a long time. He advanced towards the smug Unspeakable, face drawn in raw fury. "I risked my life and my – family's to _save_ your bloody saviour - to _win_ the war. I didn't see your pathetic arse anywhere in that war. From what I heard, all you non-Order members were too cowardly to even leave the Ministry grounds that day."

That seemed to strike a sour note with Parkins, who scowled for the first time. "We were never privy to the information the _Order _had." Clearly, he thought little of the Order. "Otherwise, the Ministry would have been responsible for the Dark Lord's death, and not dear old Potter and his Order minions."

"I was _not _Potter's minion," Draco snapped.

"Lapdog then. I hear you weren't too trusted with the more _valuable _missions." Parkins stopped to brush a hand against his nose. "From what I hear, you were constantly given the scraps that Potter and his friends left behind."

Draco bristled with anger, when one was wont to do when past failures were brought to light and compared to his worst enemies. "I'll have you know the reason Potter and his friends had the preferential treatment, was because the Head of the Order was that Gryffindor-loving McGonagall. She always spoilt her stupid Gryffindors rotten."

Something flashed in Parkins' eyes, but it was quickly extinguished. "So that's your excuse? That you were a poor, misunderstood Slytherin?" He laughed. "That really is pathetic, Malfoy. You're a grown adult who still can't accept that he is just a waste of space." He leant closer to a steaming Draco. "You were useless in school, Malfoy," he said slowly, vindictively, "and you are useless now … It's just this time there is no Potter to remind you."

If a small group of Ministry workers hadn't stumbled upon their altercation, Draco would have sent an Unforgiveable at Parkins. With his chest burning with red-hot anger, he wasn't even sure which one it would have been.

But, unfortunately, they did, and still smirking, Parkins took the chance to slip away with them. Draco made a noise of rage. _That damned bastard! How dare he have the nerve to bring up something that nobody else had done before! _

Huffing angrily, Draco set off the elevator. It wasn't until he'd reached the exit, and suppressed the urge to go back for Parkins' blood, did he realise something slightly odd.

Parkins had never gone to Hogwarts.

* * *

* * *

Much to Draco's exasperation, the next weeks that followed were depressingly dull. As he sat on the couch, watching television with the gang, Draco thought back to what had happened with the case.

It had taken another week to wait for the replacement computer, but he'd finally been successful in acquiring what he needed from that Muggle's computer. It hadn't really been worth the effort it had taken, but the first of many (hopefully) incriminating files now lay safely in his warded trunk. Already, he was sure he had more information than the pathetic Ministry had scrambled to find.

Much to Draco's disappointment though, any suspicion towards Potter was growing less and less likely by the day. The innovative Dark Arts tracing system that had been discreetly placed around the grounds had remained completely inactive, offering nary a bleep to indicate _any_ magic was being used, let alone dark magic.

Potter too, had even been acting like the boring Muggle he was supposed to be. Draco had been carefully tailing Potter whenever he could and not once had he encountered anything unusual. There had been no disappearances, no unusual trips off campus, and no meeting up with any of his other so-called friends – the ones Dan had briefly mentioned that first night.

In fact, Draco's suspicions that this whole situation _had _just been created to get rid of him for a while were beginning to mount. The only thing that kept Draco from just throwing in the towel was the niggling feeling that Potter was acting _too_ normal. Watching the wizard for over seven years, that was a suspicion in itself, because Potter _always _attracted some semblance of trouble. It was in his nature.

Still, it was only a shaky speculation, not nearly enough to have Potter's name disgraced.

Draco shifted on the couch, allowing Sam to slip in beside him with another bowl of popcorn. From the floor, Potter flicked a superior look his way, before turning his attention back to the television.

Even though Potter couldn't see it, Draco scowled.

Although he hadtriedtogo out of his way to avoid spending time with Potter and the gang – other than the spying – it wasn't an entirely infallible plan. There had been many occasions, such as that very night, where Draco had had to endure hours and hours of Potter's company because Marty insisted that he join the whole 'gang'.

It had been difficult – so many times Draco wished he could have whipped out his wand to curse the infuriating bugger – but he and Potter had managed to keep the hostilities towards one another at the bare minimum, leaving the Muggles none the wiser towards any past history between them.

Nevertheless, for all of his efforts, absolutely nobody had missed the underlying tension between the two. To Draco's annoyance, Sam repeatedly referred to it as being tension at its most basic level.

"Sexual," he had bluntly stated one evening, when Draco and Potter had been forced to sit beside one another on the tiny couch. Sam had watched on whilst the two tried unsuccessfully to find a comfortable place in their limited space _and _not touch each other at the same time. "You want in each other's pants."

Predictably, the whole group thought it was hilarious, bar one Draco Malfoy. He couldn't help but glare spitefully at the wizarding saviour, who'd laughed if off as easily as one of Sam's hopeless pick up lines.

Whilst a small part of him _had_ laughed at the ridiculousness of such an idea, the larger, more rational side of Draco had been steaming. It was utterly debasing and insulting to have their years' long enmity described as nothing more than unbridled sexual attraction. He'd invested years and years of hatred to their ongoing feud; always preparing something for their next, fierce confrontation, whether it be a thinly veiled insult, or a new hex he'd learnt.

He certainly hadn't thought of getting into Potter's pants on those many instances they'd found themselves butting heads … and he didn't mean it in the nefarious way he'd just said that either! During Hogwarts and after, he could honestly say that he had never imagined himself and Potter in any compromising position – other than the one reoccurring fantasy in sixth year where he had had his hands tightly wound around Potter's throat.

In fact, although he had switched sides after his sixth year, his animosity towards Potter hadn't lessened. If anything, during the war, it had increased, because the extenuating circumstances of a certain life-changing event were partly due to the bloody Boy-who-lived and his penchant for trouble.

"Popcorn?"

A bowl of popcorn bumped his thigh, and Draco looked up to smile at the person offering it. _There was no denying the attraction towards _other _members of the gang, _he thought, hiding his reaction as their fingers brushed against each other in a not so accidental way.

Sam grinned back at him, then settled back into the couch, this time his shoulders inches closer to Draco than they were before.

He inwardly sighed, willing his interest away with an image of Millicent Bulstrode naked. It was too bad he wasn't able to act on said attraction. The ever-looming possibility of a Ministry employee catching wind of his actions whilst on a case would mean his position as an Auror would be jeopardised. He needn't add hisstatusinsociety too.

Snuggling deeper into the lumpy couch, Draco forcibly pushed aside those thoughts. For now he would have another offered handful of popcorn, and content himself in watching the movie they were playing – Lord of the Rung or something of the sort.

Besides the pointy ears, and the way he practically threw himself at that dirty blooded mortal, he rather fancied himself as the elf, Legolas.

* * *

* * *

Harry couldn't help sniggering as he rested his head comfortable against the back of the couch, enjoying the scowl on Malfoy's face. He never realised how amusing it was to annoy his old school nemesis.

Surprisingly, for Harry, the time in which Malfoy had been present at the university had passed by quite quickly. He certainly hadn't expected it to be that way, especially after the first week of Malfoy's antics, _freaky outlet power surge, my foot, _but surprisingly, the sight of Malfoy bumbling his way through Muggleville had almost become a second nature to him.

He wasn't stupid though. Harry knew very well that Malfoy was tailing his every move. It was weird in a way, but at times, it felt like his sixth year all over again, except this time, the roles were reversed, and it was Malfoy who was the obsessive one trying to find out what was going on. The ex-Slytherin really wasn't any good at it though; so far, Harry knew that Malfoy had found nothing out of the ordinary despite all his snooping around.

Of course, that wasn't a complete insult to Malfoy's Auror training. Harry had had many years to master both his Gryffindor and Slytherin sides, and had been extremely careful with everything he had done over the past few weeks. He'd attended all his university courses and 'gang' nights, kept his wand safely tucked in his cupboard, completely unused, and had even made sure not to meet up with his _old_ _friends_ on campus grounds.

He couldn't help laughing inwardly at the name that Dan had given to the people he met up with. It sounded too innocent for who they really were.

_Malfoy_ _would_ _know_ _all_ _about_ _that_, Harry thought darkly, frowning at the unwatched television, _that's for sure._

It was amazing they hadn't noticed Malfoy's annoying presence yet. Of course Harry had done everything he could to keep it that way, but he thought for sure that being on campus so much, _somebody_ would have recognised the pompous wizard by now.

But they hadn't.

Although Malfoy might not know it, he was extremely lucky in that regards.

* * *

* * *

In the middle of September, one night strayed from Harry's semblance of normalcy.

Harry hid in his bedroom, hunched dejectedly at the end of his bed. Since lunch, which had been hours before, he'd avoided all human civilisation; unable to forget what he would have to do later that very night.

As he always did with things involving this particular touchy part of his life, Harry had put it off to the very last second, hoping that somehow it would be called off, or he'd have a valid excuse for not going.

However, it was only an hour to go until his fateful meeting, and he knew that he had to go, whether he liked it or not.

_Oh_ _god_. Harry dropped his head into his hands, his eyes stinging. _I can't do this_. _I'm –_

"James!"

His door opened abruptly, and snapping his head up, he quickly forced a smile onto his face just as Tyler popped his head through the doorway.

"Whatcha doing in the dark?" his roommate asked, his outline looking around the room, until coming to rest by the bed.

Harry made a non-committal noise at the back of his throat, but reached out to switch the light on. He was surprised by the startled intake from Tyler.

"Geez, you look terrible. Don't tell me it's that time again?" It was hardly a question, but Harry nodded anyway.

"I- I'm meeting them again … tonight actually, for her birthday," he explained, and then groaned. "What am I doing? I'm such a – a _wreck_."

Tyler sighed and moved from his position in the doorway to settle beside Harry. He wrapped an arm around him and pulled Harry close enough that his head rested on a warm, comforting shoulder. "I know that you can't tell me everything that's going on," he said softly, "and that Marty's the only one you usually confide in – but just know that you can always come to me, all right?" He squeezed Harry's shoulder reassuringly.

Harry managed a weak grin, looking back at his friend. "Yeah I know," he replied thickly. Tyler reminded him so much of Ron sometimes – not in looks, like Ally, but in his kind and generous spirit. "Thanks."

Tyler returned his grin, and then jumped up. "Well, we better get you dressed for the occasion then. How about that pink striped shirt I bought for your birthday?"

Harry snatched said disgusting shirt from Tyler's grips, some of his good spirits returning. "Definitely _not_," he argued.

* * *

* * *

Apparating into a deserted alleyway an hour later, Harry's bad mood had swiftly returned, settling into the pit of his stomach like one of Hagrid's rock cakes.

He stood still for a moment, to shake off the peculiar feeling he always had when Apparating, then took off in the direction of the nearest and brightest lit building. Thankfully, the busy restaurant he'd be dining at that night was a Muggle one.

Even better, it had been at _her _suggestion. Then again, Harry had never been able to fault her seemingly flawless sense of perception about the people around her. She knew he wouldn't have considered anywhere else, even though she might not know the reasons why.

Reaching the main desk, he held his breath as he gave his name – the real one - to the maitre de, but she waved him on uneventfully; no dreaded look of awe crossing her face, or telltale glance up at his forehead. She merely told him what table he'd been allocated, and that his guests were already waiting for him.

He thanked her politely, that ever familiar twist in his gut as the guilt and shame made their unpleasant return at the news.

_You can do this, Harry, _he told himself firmly, pushing them back as he neared the main dining room. _Act happy for them. _Be_ happy for them. They don't deserve to have their evening ruined because of your own petty problems._

Nervously adjusting his uncomfortably tight collar, he took a deep breath before stepping forward into the loud and crowded room.

A cold, tingling sensation that ran down the length of his spine indicated that he'd immediately been spotted. It only took him a brief second before his own eyes picked out the two unforgettable heads that had popped up from the far corner of the room, and swivelled around to look in his direction.

Taking one last, deep breath to reassure himself, he pasted a smile on his face, and made the weaving journey over to them.

As he stopped in front of their table, the figure on his left, a woman with thick, brown hair gracefully stood up first; pushing back her chair and offering him a small, but genuine smile.

"It's good to see you, Harry," she said softly, outstretching her arms, and before Harry knew it, she had engulfed him in a warm embrace.

It took everything he had to return her hug, and even more to not cling on when she moved away seconds later. _Oh, how he'd missed this … how he wished he deserved it._

"It's good to see you too," he said thickly, and shakily pulled out a small wrapped present from his back pocket. "And of course, Happy Birthday." He carefully placed it in her dainty hands.

At her squeals of delight, he took the opportunity to turn his attention towards the red-headed man, who had only just followed his girlfriend's actions to rise from his seat. Holding out a hand, Harry's words were guarded; wary of the response he would get. "Hello Ron."

_tbc..._

* * *

**A/N:** Yes, I'm sorry, it is another dreaded cliff-hanger. You could say I have a horrible compulsion to end nearly every chapter I write with a cliff-hanger, hehe.

Anyway, this is by no means my favourite chapter. It was more a transitional chapter for me … a preparation for future events … All the chopping and changing might be a bit annoying for you, but future chapters won't be as bad, I promise.

I hope you like it though, and leave a nice, long review for a tired, hard-working writer such as myself ::winks::

Thanks again to all those who reviewed. I guarantee that I am wholly dedicating myself to this story until I have finished it!!


	5. Surprising Events

**Title:** To do the Unspeakable

**Author:** mony2208

**Pairing:** Harry/Draco

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**Summary:** Post-Hogwarts. Auror Draco Malfoy is on the verge of being fired. Given one last chance to redeem himself, he is sent to investigate dark activities at a Muggle university, where he stumbles upon a certain saviour who disappeared from the wizarding world two years ago.

**A/N:** I am so very sorry for not posting this chapter earlier. What with it being Christmas and New Years, I was kept busy celebrating ::wink:: Also, I haven't had much access to the Internet lately, because my modem decided it didn't like hot weather … and since there's been a heatwave here with the temperature soaring over 40 degrees Celsius, it decided to fry itself.

* * *

**To do the Unspeakable**

* * *

_Chapter Five_

The moments in which Harry waited for a reaction from his old best friend seemed to last an age.

Ron's face was carefully blank, a feat not usually achieved by the naturally emotional Weasley. Cold, blue eyes lowered slowly to Harry's outstretched hand, which – despite Harry's best intentions - began to twitch nervously under the attention.

Whether or not Ron noticed those faint tremors coursing through to his fingers there was the slightest downturn of a freckled lip, and, heart sinking, Harry was just about certain his offer would be ignored … or rejected.

Then that instant passed, and a warm, freckled hand grasped his.

Sombrely, Ron gave his hand a brief shake, and then released it to nod a wordless, but nonetheless there greeting. Beaming to his left - from where she had stood motionless throughout the exchange - Hermione stared a little too brightly at the two of them, before moving to take her seat again.

Ron and Harry followed her example; Harry hiding his relief behind his own carefully composed expression.

Well, that was the most painful moment of the evening done and dusted.

Let''s see if I shall come out as unscathed in the next.

As Hermione happily unwrapped her present, Harry was given the opportunity to take a good look at his two once closest friends.

They hadn't changed much since the last time he'd met up with him … sometime in March, for Ron's birthday. With her bushy-haired tamed for the fancy occasion, Hermione was still the elegant, self-assured witch she'd become after the horrors of war had slowly faded from her mind and body. Ron too, had seemed to shed some of the bitterness the war had left him with. Though Harry still couldn't tell what he was exactly feeling, there wasn't the same unapproachable aura that had been around him the last few times they had met up during the war.

_"It's not fair!" A nearby trinket exploded spectacularly, sending glittering shards around the dark, stifling room. Ron paced through the mess, uncaring. "I should be out there, doing something, ANYTHING."_

_Hermione's voice was full of understanding. "We are doing something, Ron."_

_"What? Learning how to transfigure a goblet into a goose? I'm sure they'll be a great defence against the Death Eaters when they come to invade Hogwarts again!"_

_A soft sigh. "Don't be like that."_

_"No! If he gets to be out there-" A finger jabbed in Harry's direction, quiet until then. "-so should I!"_

"_You don't understand, Ron," Harry tried to plead, rubbing a dirty, bloody hand over his taut _face. He hadn't had the chance to clean himself up. _"It's _really_ better for you and Hermione to stay at Hogwarts for the time being."_

_An ugly sneer curled Ron's lips. "That's easy for you to say. Everyone's practically falling over themselves to give the Chosen One whatever he wants."_

_Hermione's shocked voice cried out. "Ron!"_

_"No! Nearly my whole family is in the Order, and any one of them could die at any minute." He lost some of his earlier steam, stumbling slightly as his pacing came to an abrupt stop. " Fred -Fred almost did."_

_Harry moved to comfort him then, his chest burning with such a searing pain that it left him breathless. But Hermione was already there, wrapping a warm, supportive arm around his shaking shoulders and whispering reassuring words into his ear. _

_Harry felt a whole other world apart._

_He went to take another step forward, to try again, for he really did understand Ron's pain._

"_Ron…" __I'm sorry. I'm so bloody sorry._

_But Ron's glare made him stop mid-step. "Just leave it, Harry … Go back to your stupid Horcruxes."_

Inwardly wincing, he closed his eyes to wipe the image away, and jumped when two arms weaved around his neck in a sort of half embrace.

"Oh, thank you, Harry," a voice gushed by his ear, reminding Harry of where he was.

_Don't lose it now, Potter_.

With heavy limbs, he gave an awkward pat back, discreetly inhaling the sweet scent of Sleekeazy's Hair Potion. "You're welcome, Hermy," he murmured gently

When he reopened his eyes and pulled away, Hermione was smiling again. She reached out across the table for Ron's hand - slowly tracing a pattern into the table – and went on to tell him about the presents Ron and her parents had given her that morning.

Their light conversation ceased as a waiter stepped up to their table and their menus were carefully placed in front of them.

Harry thanked him with a nod, finding the sight of the waiter more appealing than the idea of currently broaching any other topics of conversation.

It was always the most difficult part of the night … the dancing around all of the topics they wouldn't – or couldn't talk about. There were too many to list, to be quite honest.

The figure disappeared through the side doors and without that distraction he quickly looked down at his menu; busying himself with trying to figure out what to order.

Hermione was the first to decide. She closed her menu with a gentle swish.

"So," she began optimistically, and with a trickle of despair, Harry just knew she wasn't going to be continuing on about her birthday.

He was right.

Leaning forward on the table, Hermione fixed an earnest gaze onto Harry. "How is life treating you now?" she asked. "From what I've been able to read from the newspapers, nobody has discovered yet where you've been all this time."

Harry couldn't help but wince at the implication he was hiding away from everyone, but managed a light shrug.

"Yeah, it's been pretty good actually," he lied. It was a real worry that he found it so easy to do these days. "At my university, nobody recognises who I am. I'm just a – regular guy … and it's what I really need right now. Y'know how much I hated all the fame."

Ron gave another undefinable nod. "Yeah," he said slowly. He wasn't looking at Harry, but instead sideways at Hermione. "We know."

There was a crushing blow on his shoulders as the guilt he felt towards them intensified with tremendous force. It was all Harry could do to make an appreciative noise in return, as he again forced his attention down towards his menu.

The writing was slightly blurry, but Harry chalked it up to the old bulky glasses that had made their lopsided appearance specifically for this dinner. It had been a long time since he'd worn them, since he'd had to wear them. At university, his eyes had grown used to the reliable Muggle contacts Marty had helped him buy.

Sighing internally, he scratched at the bridge of his nose, squinting through them.

Another silence fell then, uncomfortable enough that Hermione worked to fill it. "Well Molly sends her love to you, of course. She wasn't able to come tonight – can you believe she's already preparing for a Halloween feast?"

Harry smiled humourlessly. "No I can't."

Although he could. Since Arthur's death, Molly had taken to whatever she could do to replace the missing void of her husband's presence. The last time he'd visited the Burrow, Molly had actually gone into Arthur's old Muggle workshop and completely emptied the place, throwing every old Muggle contraption she could grab into the nearest rubbish bin.

Hermione had later told him she'd ended up putting everything back in three days later, although Harry had never gained the courage to return there to see for himself.

Nobody had ever asked him too either.

_Wails of torment filling the air, growing hoarser and hoarser but no less agonising to hear as the day slowly turned to dusk …_

Harry returned back to the present to find that Hermione was still chattering away about the feast. "- and Bill and Fleur are coming with lovely little Tia. She'll be two in November, you know."

She stopped, waiting, probably for a reply from Harry, who dropped his eyes back down to the fancy, embroidered tablecloth.

_Fleur screaming, bloody hands clutching her belly as she stumbled through the front door of 12 Grimmauld Place._

Harry blinked yet another unwelcome image away. He didn't need that now.

"Th-that's nice," he managed to force out.

Hermione seemed to sense a discomfort on Harry's part, and quickly continued on. "The rest of the family are coming too. Despite Charlie's protests, Fred and George have even been conspiring to kidnap him away from his beloved dragons."

Harry smiled weakly. "I can't imagine Mrs Weasley would be too happy with their methods of getting him to come."

Hermione shrugged inelegantly, an uncharacteristic gesture for her. "Any way that she can get the family all together again."

Harry looked down at that. There was no mistaking what Hermione was clearly saying. "I'm sure it will be a – great Halloween," he said softly. "You'll have to tell me about it in the next letter you send."

There was a soft sigh, and a clanking of charms as Hermione brought her hand – bearing Harry's present, a charmed bracelet - to rest on Harry's. "Letters just aren't the same, Harry. It really would be better for you to just come back. We miss you."

Shifting uncomfortably in his seat, Harry peeked through his fringe to see what Ron's reaction to all this was, but only saw a tousled red head as it continued to peruse the menu. A fiery hole burnt through his chest.

He turned his full attention back onto Hermione, though he kept his gaze downwards, gently intertwining his tanned, masculine fingers with her gentle forgiving ones. "I know. I ca- it's just too hard."

Hermione squeezed them reassuringly. "You are family, Harry. Don't forget that."

After a discreet poke, Ron, for only the second time that night, joined the conversation.

"Of course," he said, although it was hardly convincing. He quickly returned to his menu, furrowing a brow. "I think I'll have the Chicken Parmigiana – how about you guys?"

Harry tuned out Hermione's somewhat frosty answer, allowing his eyes to linger on their joined hands for just a few seconds longer. Sometimes it was easier to ignore the truth, than to look straight up at it and confront it.

* * *

_Earlier that day …_

"Come on … why is it so easy to lose Potter?"

Standing on his tip toes, Draco strained his neck to see above the busy crowd of Muggles. Somehow, for the third time that day, he'd lost sight of Potter's hopelessly messy head.

Draco cursed under his breath when his eyes eventually locked onto a short raven head, bobbing towards the far staircase. _Why must that prat be so short?_

He pushed his way through the crowd, jostling people with his elbows. One indignant Muggle turned to flip him the finger, which seemed to be a universal thing, Muggle and magical.

"Get lost, you pathetic heap of Hippogriff dung," he snapped in annoyance.

The Muggle's eyes widened comically, but any response was lost as Draco was quickly rushed past in another wave of students leaving class.

At least now he knew where to go. Although he again couldn't see Potter, he'd seen enough to tell him that the ex-Gryffindor was aiming to go upstairs.

A surge of excitement spread throughout Draco at the thought. Neither he, nor Potter had any classes up there, and in the month he'd been following Potter, not once had he gone upstairs in that section of the university.

Draco wondered what was so interesting there now.

"Excuse me … coming through … _move aside._" He impatiently pushed through the thick of the crowd, ignoring any more protests until he reached the top of the staircase.

There was just as many people up there as there were downstairs, was the first thing he realised. Just as busy, just as loud, just as _stupid_.

The second thing he noticed was Potter as he disappeared into a nearby classroom.

A faint sneer appeared on Draco's face as he slumped against a nearby wall, showing only a small portion of the disdain he felt towards the whole situation.

He was tired of tailing Potter.

The ongoing investigation of the case was exhausting, frustrating, and growing more difficult - by the day - to keep his Muggle façade in tact.

It would have been all right if he had been given something, _anything_, but any possible leads always ended up becoming moments such as these. A hint of something strange … something sinister … and then a crushing disappointment.

So far, Potter's life only seemed to revolve around the 'gang', and his courses at university. He'd tailed him to classes, libraries – Merlin forbid he was turning into Granger – bookshops, cafes, and the gang nights which usually ended up at the local _gay_ pub/night club, Joe's.

Draco still found that last place hard to get his head around. Perfect Potter could never harbour such tendencies … or at least he'd always believed.

He still had yet to see any evidence that Potter was really gay. On the nights they'd gone to Joes, Potter had received many offers from fellow patrons, but had never taken any of them up.

All Draco really had was Tyler's initial admission that there was once something between Marty and Potter.

And Marty was proving to be annoyingly difficult to get information from.

From that first night out with the gang, Marty had been the hardest Muggle to fool. He reminded Draco of a Ravenclaw sometimes, analysing every word, both spoken and unspoken. It felt like he was a walking Pensieve sometimes. If Draco made the slightest error concerning his so-called Muggle life, Marty was always the first to shoot a quizzical look his way.

From what some of the gang had told him, Marty had always been able to re-visit past moments with a startling ease.

"It is how he always seems to just _know_ a person," Domick had once said. "Nothing goes past him. He remembers every evasive look, every fake smile …"

This was probably what led to the other thing Draco was finding so infuriating about the Muggle. For some strange reason, whenever Draco attempted to shadow Potter's every move, Marty was always in the perfect position to catch him. Which meant that because of his all-knowing, omniscient-like ways, he was also – and infuriatingly at that - clever enough not to entirely accept Draco's fumbling excuses of just why he always seemed to be within Potter's bloody vicinity.

Who knows what he was saying to Potter about him.

At that moment, he was jostled out of his thoughts by a bony shoulder roughly poking into his side. The force of it pushed him into the cold, unyielding lockers. He flexed his shoulder, wincing. _Oh boy, that's going to bruise._

Draco glared at the hooded culprit who was hightailing it away, uncaring of the mess he had caused.

"Mind who you bump into, you jerk," he snarled loudly, ignoring the fact that he'd been doing the same just minutes before.

The jerk in question stopped a few metres short of Potter's classroom, Draco's voice managing to rise above the low murmur of the corridors. Throwing his hood back, he slowly turned around, and Draco was once again familiarised with his favourite rude gesture.

Draco's mouth shifted into a slow, malicious sneer, eager at the opportunity to vent a bit of his anger. _Who said you could only torment Muggles with a wand? _He stepped away from the lockers with renewed energy, raising his chin in a well-rehearsed motion of defiance.

Not so surprisingly, the Muggle didn't seem too keen on Draco's little act. Immediately, the idiot froze in action, gaping thunderstruck at Draco until he realised he was still giving Draco the one-finger salute.

Quickly, he stuffed the offending hand into his jeans pocket, spun around, and made an about turn to the staircase he had just apparently come from. Draco watched on, amused, as the Muggle seemed to pause for a second, shoot a nervous look in his direction as if he expected Draco to chase after him, then tear down the stairs.

Draco shook his head, chuckling softly. Stupid Muggle.

He returned his focus to the classroom door Potter had walked into, hoping that Potter would hurry up and leave.

A few minutes later, his prayers were answered. Potter emerged, looking vaguely miffed at something. He looked around irritably – Draco hid behind a tall, lanky Muggle – and seemed to grumble under his breath. Draco, being so far away, couldn't quite catch any of the words, but it was a sure guess it wasn't something positive.

"Drake!"

Startled, Draco turned to face the familiar voice. "Marty."

"What are you doing here? Didn't think you had any classes up on this level."

"I - don't."

Draco's gaze accidentally drifted over to where Potter was now bent over, drinking from a water fountain.

Marty caught that gaze, instantly contemplative. He narrowed his eyes. "I see."

The way his eyes moved back to his left no doubt in Draco's mind that he was in trouble.

* * *

_That night …_

"Matrix Reloaded all right?"

Happily munching on some popcorn, Draco's gaze shifted from the television box to Marty, who was holding up two plastic cases in his hands.

Draco was enjoying a night in for once.

Earlier that day, Draco was almost positive his cover had been blown. Facing a suspicious Marty, he'd done what he had proven to do under any sort of dire circumstance.

Panic.

Sometime in-between his prattling on about his theories on coincidence or fate, and the lovely architecture of the second floor, Marty bit his lip, and turned away with what appeared to be a choked laugh.

And that was when Draco knew he had somehow gotten away with it yet again.

Which was why they were currently spending the night in their apartment, watching movie after movie on Marty's VDV player.

_Screw_ _Potter_ _for_ _one_ _night_, Draco thought to himself for the umpteenth time that evening. He stretched his legs out onto the couch, where they were crossed comfortably. _It wasn't as if he'd be doing anything interesting anyway._

"Drake?"

Draco returned his gaze over to Marty. "Sounds fine."

He was replied with a distant grin as Marty sluggishly flipped open the case and inserted the next movie into the VD player.

Draco watched out of the corner of his eye as Marty settled back onto his chair without another word. There was something strange about the Muggle that night. He was being uncharacteristically silent for a man who usually shared Draco's uncanny enthusiasm for the television.

Something about his expression too struck Draco as being unusual. It seemed too serious, and almost … apprehensive.

"You all right?" he asked at one point, when Marty had skipped the golden opportunity to comment on the black leather clad actor's latest antics.

Marty jerked slightly, as if disturbed from something, then turned to Draco. "Hmm? Oh yeah – fine," he answered. He made an attempt to focus back on the television, an attempt that Draco noticed failed entirely.

"You seem a bit edgy," Draco pressed, watching as Marty's eyes seemed to glaze over.

"Oh well," Marty laughed, and Draco could tell that it was forced. "I was just wondering -whether Dan was going to call me tonight. We had a bit of a er – tiff yesterday."

"You seemed fine together when we all met for lunch today," Draco pointed out.

"Uh yeah … right."

And after that Marty didn't answer any more of Draco's inquisitive questions, no matter how hard he tried.

Eventually, he gave up, and after watching two movies straight, Draco's eyes began to fall shut of their own accord.

The sound of a loud piercing ring in his ears made Draco jerk awake; confused at the interruption. He had to stop himself from instantly reaching for his wand. Lifting his head from the couch, he blearily looked first to the television then to Marty, who - seated at the edge of his seat - was gazing over his shoulder.

At the telly phone.

Draco frowned, blinking away the drowsiness that lingered from his disturbed nap. _Who could be ringing at this hour?_

But Marty sighed, as if he was expecting it all along. Pushing himself off the couch, he quickly walked over to the phone and answered with an apprehensive, "Hello."

There was a moment's silence and then Marty sighed again. "How much?"

Draco's head swivelled over to see Marty leaning against the wall, and rubbing his eyes wearily. "Oh god - _No_," he said into the phone, catching Draco's eye. "It's not a problem. You know how he gets sometimes. I'll be right there to pick him up."

He hung up the phone, turning his face away from Draco.

"Drake - I've got to go pick up James from Joe's," he announced, walking over to the coat rack. He stifled a yawn with one hand as he slipped the other into his coat, then picked up the apartment keys from the table. "I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"

Draco's morbid curiosity compelled him to stand up. "I'll come with you."

_What was Potter doing drinking that late … and by himself too? _At Marty's look of scepticism, he added hastily, "It's pretty late, and you really shouldn't be walking around alone."

Marty gave a small smile but he still seemed uncomfortable. "Thanks, but you really don't have to."

"I know. I want to," Draco insisted. "Evanson and I might not have hit it off, but I want to make – amends."

Marty eyed him with another one of his unreadable looks. "Are you sure you want to see him like this?"

Draco shrugged. "Like what?" he asked. "Drunk? It's not as if I haven't seen anyone drunk before. I don't see why it's such a big deal." _In fact, I'm counting on it to be amusing._

Draco thought he heard a mumbled, "You will," but then Marty straightened up and smiled again, more convincingly this time. "Fine, let's go."

When they got to the club, it didn't take very long to find Potter. He was slumped up against the bar, cradling an empty glass against his cheek.

Marty shook his head, and immediately strode over to him. Draco followed behind, and heard the soft, "Oh James," Marty whispered under his breath.

They stopped in front of him, Draco a few feet behind Marty, who scooped up Harry's discarded cloak from a nearby stool and placed it around his shoulders in a motion that looked well rehearsed.

"Come on, James," he said, picking the glass out of Harry's limp fingers. "It's time to go now."

Potter shook his head slowly, his drooping eyes still focused on where his glass had just been. "I wan 'nother drink."

"Any more drinks and you'll be passed out on the ground."

Under his breath, Potter ruefully murmured, "That was the general idea."

Draco arched an eyebrow, surprised, but bit his tongue. Marty needn't know that during the war, Potter had never touched a drop of alcohol, much less get absolutely smashed. _Since when did lowering his inhibitions become a good idea for the saviour?_

Marty clucked disapprovingly, unknowingly reminiscent of the Weasel's mother – on the rare occasions Draco had spent at Order Headquarters.

"Well, I don't think Joe would be impressed if that happened again … So, come on, up." Marty slipped two arms around Potter's waist and moved to pull him up off the stool.

Draco could see that that ploy wouldn't work, even before it had failed.

Sure enough, the Muggle had barely lifted him up two centimetres before Potter went completely limp.

"_James_."

Ignoring him, Potter stubbornly remained as he was, hell bent on not moving. Draco watched on as Marty struggled in vain.

Potter scowled his annoyance, throwing out an elbow that lightly jostled Marty. "Just bugger off, will you."

Marty blew out a frustrated breath, yet allowed Potter to slip from his grasp and slump back onto the stool. He turned to Draco with pleading eyes. "Drake, do you mind calling for a taxi?"

Potter's head snapped over to him, vague recognition flashing across his glazed eyes. Clearly, he hadn't known of Draco's presence until then.

Draco nodded, though he found it wasn't quite so easy to pull himself away from the scene in front of him. He eyed Potter with astonishment. _That _was the saviour of the world? A common drunk? Where had that cold, emotionless and in control man he'd spied on for the past month gone?

Potter made a sudden noise as Draco managed to take a step away; halfway between a giggle, and a high snort. It sounded too desperate and high-pitched for his liking.

"You asking Drakey to call for a cab?" Standing up on unsteady legs, he made the sound again, making Draco cringe. "'Cause you know he'd have to know how to use a fellytone first. Little Ronniekins didn't, and he got me into _so_ much trouble."

Draco stopped mid-step, horrified at what Potter had just so casually admitted.

Luckily, Marty just passed it off with a careless wave. "Just ignore what he's saying," he said, to Draco's relief. "He gets a bit delusional when he's drunk. Last time he went on and on about a broomstick."

Potter burst out with a loud laugh at that and tried to shake his finger at Marty. "Don't go mentioning broomsticks to Drakey here," he warned, swaying along with his finger. "That's a – a sore subject for him."

A roll of the eyes was Marty's only answer, extending an arm to steady Potter, who tripped over his feet and fell back onto his stool. Draco took this as a cue to find the phone in the hallway, heart still pounding. _That idiot just smashed the entire I__nternational Confederation of Wizard's Statute of Secrecy into smithereens_

Despite his scare, it didn't take long to punch in the required numbers – he'd memorised the number from their many 'gang' nights – and was told a cab would be there within ten minutes.

Draco hung up the telly phone, but paused to lean against the wall for another moment. It was a given that he'd feel eagerness towards the sight of the wizarding world's fallen Chosen One … and he did, to an extent. But underneath that, there was something else, something less identifiable and familiar that Draco couldn't quite put a name too.

He pushed himself off the wall with a deep frown, shaking the feeling off. _A Malfoy does not allow emotion to cloud their judgement … whatever they might be. _Still, as he walked back to the main bar, he found himself hesitating by the doorway, taking in the situation from afar.

It hadn't changed: Potter was still slumped over the bar, arguing half-heartedly with an increasingly frustrated Muggle.

He arrived just in time for the ending of another one of Marty's lectures. "- and don't think you are avoiding the issue by drinking. It didn't work last time, and it's certainly not going to start now."

"Don't." Sharply - sharper than Draco thought possible for a drunk man - Potter's eyes swept over Draco. "Not – here. Not now."

Marty stood over him; hands on hips, and a serious look marring his handsome face. "That's what you always say." He ignored Potter's faint smirk. "All right, James. We'll discuss it later. But we've got to get you home now, okay?"

The slyness of Potter's smirk abruptly disappeared. Any remaining strength seemed to have completely deserted him as his shoulders slumped dejectedly.

"I've got no home," he mumbled, his voice lifeless. He squinted over to where Joe was standing quietly, drying glasses. "One more drink, Joe

Joe looked to Marty, who gave a firm shake of his head. "Sorry, James. The bar's closed."

With a muted groan, Potter let his head fall onto the bar. Draco fancied he saw something drop onto the shiny surface … a tear, perhaps?

A worried frown appeared on Marty's face. "Come on, James." He held Potter's jacket in front of him, giving it a shake. "No more excuses."

Looking up, Potter eyed it reluctantly, and Draco was certain he'd ignore it again. Then – as always - he defied all expectations and slowly pushed himself to his feet. Marty sent him a smile, but otherwise kept quiet; helping the inebriated man to put the jacket on. Once that was done, he took Potter by the elbow and led him gently off the stool.

To Draco's surprise, Potter offered no resistance from the additional help. He followed Marty and Draco's retreat from the bar with a hunched back, sniffling quietly from time to time with a miserable expression on his face. Sending Joe a wave of thanks, Marty wrapped a comforting arm around Potter's waist, who seemed to pull away for a moment before shuddering and burying his face into the crook of Marty's neck.

As they stepped outside, the two appeared to have completely forgotten Draco's presence, who was trailing a few steps behind. Draco watched the silent exchange between the pair, unable to place the same feeling that had seemingly surged from nowhere.

Somehow, he just felt as though he'd witnessed one of the most vulnerable moments of Potter's life…

… And it wasn't half as satisfying as he had thought it would be.

* * *

Marty didn't voice one complaint as he and Draco dragged a very inebriated bespectacled young man into their shared apartment, and dropped him on the couch Draco had been lying on only hours before.

When they eventually got back to the apartment block, they'd found that Potter had inconveniently misplaced his key somewhere. By that time, it was too late to wake up Tyler, Potter's roommate - who apparently had some important interview early the next morning – so Marty had agreed that Potter would be better off with them, or rather with him.

He hadn't taken well to Draco's suggestion that they leave Potter by his apartment's doorstep.

With a reproachful glare, Marty immediately went to go get some aspirin - muttering about no James' miracle headache cure this time - leaving the two alone.

Draco sat on the edge of the other chair, eyes roaming curiously over Potter's prone form. He took in Potter's sprawled position on the couch; clothes in disarray, hair resembling Marty's room, and the infamous glasses that had made their lopsided reappearance on the end of his nose. _Where did they come from?_

"Enjoying this are you, Malfoy?" Potter slurred.

Draco snapped his eyes to Potter's half-opened, sleepy ones, horrified that he'd been caught staring.

He hadn't expected Potter to still be awake, or at the very least, willing to speak anymore. Since they'd climbed into the taxi, Potter had remained suspiciously silent, unresponsive to anything else Marty had asked. Marty hadn't pushed, and it just seemed to Draco that Marty had dealt with this silent, brooding behaviour before.

"Well, Malfoy?" Potter blinked slowly at Draco, his tongue darting out to wet dry, cracked lips. All earlier amusement of Draco seemed to have disappeared into thin air. "I bet you never expected me to be so screwed up, did you?"

That was putting it mildly.

Draco had never seen the saviour so out of character before. And that was including the first time Potter had laid eyes on him after Dumbledore's death.

That time he'd just been purely murderous … this time it was something far more unsettling.

He gave himself a mental shake. "What are you talking about, Potter?" he snapped. "You've always been this screwed up."

Apparently Draco had been wrong in thinking that Potter's crazy bout of laughter had gone.

Potter started laughing as if that was the funniest thing he'd ever heard. "You're the only one to ever say that straight to my face," he stated. Long fingers – almost skeletal in nature – lowered to clutch tightly at his mid-section, where his shirt had ridden up to reveal a white, lean stomach.

Draco was annoyed, though he didn't exactly know why. "And why would that be amusing, Potter?"

Still laughing, Potter rolled onto his side, unaware or uncaring of the fact that his shirt had twisted around even more unnaturally. He kept his gaze onto Draco's, any loathing or anger strangely absent. There was something else in them … something he'd only seen in them once, in a stuffy, cramped room smelling of foul potions, and lots and lots of pain.

"Because Malfoy," he said slowly, eyelids drooping. "_You_ are the only one who has ever been completely right."

Draco opened his mouth to say something, only to close it again in disbelief. _Only one to have been right. _That was something he'd been wanting to hear from Potter for a long, long time.

Strange how when it actually happened, Draco would forget how to breathe, let alone utter any cutting words back in return.

He sucked in a breath then, having to look away from that infuriatingly calm face still letting out an occasional chuckle.

"I'm always right," he managed to mutter to the side.

Potter only snorted, and there was a rustle of movement indicating he had probably resumed his earlier position on the couch. Clearly, he had said all that he had wanted to say to Draco.

Marty came back a few minutes later, his eyes automatically darting from Potter to Draco, a silent question lingering in them. _What did you do to him while I was away?_

Draco did what he could do best. He smirked, without giving anything away.

Marty's forehead was a squiggle of lines as he frowned deeply. When it became clear to him that Draco wasn't going anywhere, he nudged Potter up, sat beside him, and handed him the aspirin and a glass of water he'd been holding.

Draco watched as Potter threw back two pills and took a lengthy sip from his glass. He sent a weak grin to Marty. "Thanks."

"So I take it the little get together was bad again?" There was a faint sympathetic tone to his voice.

"Worse," Potter mumbled, sobering up as he looked down into his glass. "I don't know how they can stand to look at me."

Draco wondered who it was Potter was talking about and had to stop himself from asking.

"If it bothers you so much, you shouldn't force yourself to go," Marty said this gently, but Potter only laughed bitterly.

"They were my best friends. I have to go. It's the least I can do for them."

"Why's that?" Draco blurted out accidentally. Marty shot him a look. He told Potter that he didn't need to answer that, but Potter did anyway.

"You should know, _Malloy_," he shot back, anger finally making an appearance. "What would the world do if they knew how badly split the Golden Trio was? That I was responsible for –" He hastily stopped himself, looking as though he was counting up to ten in his head. Only then did he speak up again. "I'm sorry. From what's coming out of my mouth, I'm obviously not in my right mind at the moment."

He lifted a weary hand to rub at his eyes, removing his glasses in the same movement. He'd never looked more vulnerable.

Marty took immediate action, plucking the glasses from Potter's hands. He placed them on the table, then gently pushed Potter down on the rickety couch with the same blanket and pillow Draco had been using earlier.

"Then we'll leave you to get some sleep, okay?"

Potter nodded sleepily. "'Kay." His eyes were already falling closed. "Goodnight," he mumbled, and the tension in his posture ebbed away as he drifted off into an alcohol- induced sleep.

Marty slowly leaned forward to tuck him in, pressing a gentle kiss on his forehead.

Again, that indescribable feeling struck at Draco's chest, and he clenched his fists and looked away.

When he looked back, he found Marty watching him.

"I'll see you tomorrow," the Muggle said carefully. There was a peculiar expression on his face that unsettled Draco.

Draco nodded slowly, repressing a scowl. He thought he had an idea now of why Marty had been so quick to drop his earlier discretions towards Potter.

_No, he did not have a bloody crush on Potter, _he wanted to shout out loud. But he knew he couldn't. Having Marty believe that was much better than him trying to figure out the real truth.

He forced a smile on his face, still not entirely pleased.

"Sure." He got up from the couch to walk the few steps to his room, and without looking over his shoulder, he sent a quick "goodnight," to Marty, then prepared himself for bed.

Once in the darkness and under the covers, his eyes closed automatically. It had been a long night, and the treks to and from Joe's had exhausted him more than he could have ever imagined.

But, as the minutes ticked by, sleep cruelly evaded him. Even though his body was protesting the lack of sleep, his mind had never been more awake; supplying him with images of a man whose laughter had bordered on despair … and whose eyes had never looked so defeated.

* * *

**A/N: **Okay, now what did you all think of this chapter? You learnt quite a bit more about Harry's current state of mind … but did you like it? Am I tempting you all to keep on reading, hehe?

Well anyway, this chapter was the last one that I had actually pre-written, but I am working very hard on the sixth one as I write this now. I love writing long chapters, and at the moment I have about 5000 words of it done … Also, be warned, the reason for the mature rating of this story begins next chapter … And on that note I'll leave you for now.

Please leave me a review. It shows me that people aren't just reading a bit of my story and then running for the hills ::laughs:: One never can tell.


	6. Confounded

**Title:** To do the Unspeakable

**Author:** mony2208

**Pairing:** Harry/Draco

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**Summary:** Post-Hogwarts. Auror Draco Malfoy is on the verge of being fired. Given one last chance to redeem himself, he is sent to investigate dark activities at a muggle university, where he stumbles upon a certain saviour who disappeared from the wizarding world two years ago. Pre-Deathly Hallows. Slash.

**Author's Notes:** I've been a bad bad girl. I allowed my real life to stop me from writing, even though it was one of my New Years Resolutions to stick with it, no matter what. Gah, I'm sorry to all those who had started to get into this story, and I hope there are some people out there who are still interested in reading it. I didn't mean to abandon it for so long :( Please don't kill me.

* * *

******To do the Unspeakable**

* * *

_**Chapter Six**_

Draco awoke from an uneasy sleep.

It had been one of those nights where he had dreamt so many different dreams that in the end, now upon waking, he was only left with flashes of conflicting images all coalesced into one confusing and unclear fog in his head.

One finger raised in a triumphant salute … a hooded jacket, thrown back to reveal a haunted, masked face … a doll, snapping in half the way a twig does when somebody steps on it, but in this instance there was no foot; just an invisible crushing pressure, squeezing and squeezing until a loud crack filled the air …

Pulling himself up into a sitting position, Draco blinked his grogginess away, and immediately checked under his bed to make sure his wand was still stuck neatly to the third wooden slat.

It was.

He leant back with a sigh, swiping a hand over his bleary eyes. From the faint darkness of the room, it was obvious that the sun hadn't even properly risen yet. Otherwise the annoying rays would have made the easy journey past his flimsy blue curtains by now, blaring straight into his line of vision and blinding him.

Still, being blinded into awakening seemed a tad more inviting than usual, especially after what he'd had to endure throughout the remainder of the night. Try as he might, the only images Draco could remember from his dream marathon were unusual to say the most.

Draco shook his head to clear the images from his mind, feeling strangely unsettled. Perhaps it was just because of the almost panicked feeling that the last image seemed to almost smother him with, he tried to reassure himself, rising out of the bed. Wandless magic always did unbalance him. Ever since the war, he'd hated the unpredictability of such a rare and powerful talent, never knowing when or how it would strike. He'd seen the disastrous effects in too close a proximity.

But - as he dressed in front of his cooing mirror - a little voice at the back of his mind was telling him that there was something more to it than that, something he was missing …

Something vital.

* * *

Draco trotted into the bathroom an hour later, still feeling unsettled, only to be unpleasantly reminded of the previous night's events.

Annoyed, he kicked out at one splayed leg. "What the hell are you still doing here?"

The person occupying the toilet lifted his head to peer at Draco with half-closed, bloodshot eyes. "'The fuck does it look like, Malfoy?"

Draco quickly shut the door behind him.

"Do you mind?" he hissed furiously, his heart racing. "Wasn't it enough that you broke the International Confederation of Wizard's Statute of Secrecy at least a dozen times last night that you also have to-"

"What?"

Potter jerked up from his slumped position. He went to shake his head before obviously thinking better of it. "I didn't break any Statute."

"The Fuck you didn't, Golden boy," Draco shot back. "After lamenting the break-up of your precious Golden Trio, you babbled on about me and broomsticks, and felly tones -- which I guessed was the Weasel's pathetic impression of the telly phone."

With a groan, Potter lowered his head back down to the ceramic bowl. "Bloody fucking hell. I can't remember a thing."

That got Draco's attention.

His eyebrows rose in surprise. "Can't remember anything, hey?" he repeated, smirking. "So I'm guessing you're unable to recollect the sob story you gave me about the break-up of your precious Golden Trio?"

"What? I'd never tell you about R-" Potter began, aghast. Lifting his head from the toilet again, he stopped mid-sentence when he caught Draco's smug expression. "Oh, har har, aren't you a fucking comedian," he huffed tiredly. "You honestly think I'd believe anything you say to me? Since when did you tell the truth to anyone?"

"Believe what you will, Potter," Draco replied, not ready to concede yet. "Or better yet, why don't you ask Marty to give you a recap of the night?"

"Marty?" Potter echoed, in a small voice. He seemed to shrink in front of Draco's eyes, looking more like the teenager that he'd known back at Hogwarts. "He – heard things?"

Draco nodded, still smirking. "You're lucky Marty mistook your inept descriptions of our world as mere drunken ramblings – something you apparently do every time you get all drunk and depressed." He stopped when Potter suddenly bent over and retched. "Merlin, Potter. Couldn't you have crawled over to your own toilet to do that?"

Potter's answer was understandably muffled. "Shut up. M'not in the mood for anymore dry wit this morning." As if to prove his point, he retched again, pale hands gripping both sides of the toilet.

"What, no wonder concoction to _magically _fix your hangover left?"

Even with his head in the toilet, Draco could feel Potter's glare.

"So why _does_ meeting up with the Weasel and his – girl make you want to drink yourself into oblivion?" Draco asked, still unwilling to finish their conversation, especially when Potter was still so off-balanced by the night before. "I mean, clearly _I_ can understand the need for some alcohol after coming face to face with the Weasel, but really …"

Draco trailed off as a delicious thought hit him. "What with the Weaslette being five feet under, you haven't gone and fallen in love with the Mu-_Granger, _have you?"

All of a sudden, Draco found his back meeting the door very hard, pushing all the air out of his lungs.

Lowering his now spinning head, he very slowly met Potter's fury-filled glare. The man was still leaning heavily against the toilet, but now had one hand cruelly outstretched in Draco's direction; fingers curling almost mockingly. Draco barely refrained from gulping at the blatant show of wandless magic, but was almost pleased at the return of Potter's anger.

_So there still are those same buttons to push …_

"Don't you dare even _think_ her name," Potter spat, and for a split second, Draco couldn't understand who it was Potter had reacted so strongly towards.

"Who, the Mudblood?" he said unthinkingly.

Potter scowled, and there was an invisible warning around Draco's throat.

"No, _Ginny_," he hissed back dangerously, before adding, "and don't you dare call Hermione that filthy name either."

Draco knew he should be scared at the depth of Potter's anger – his throat could attest to that fact – but as always couldn't stop his runaway mouth. "So you're _not_ in love with Granger?"

Surprisingly Potter snorted at that, and the tension on his throat abated slightly. "Of course not. She's practically my sister."

"So why are you hiding away?"

"That is none of your business," Potter threw back, his face instantly closing off. He dropped his hand back into his lap, and Draco suddenly found he could move away from the door again, although it hardly mattered anymore.

"Is it because of the Weaslette's death?" he pressed on, trying to remember if there had been anything unusual about her death. As far as he knew, it had just been an accident, but with the Unspeakable department, one never knew …

Potter said nothing. He turned back to the toilet as if nothing had ever happened, his anger once again making that remarkable disappearance Draco couldn't quite believe was possible.

"Potter, at least tell me why you drank yourself into oblivion."

Silence.

"You _never _drink."

Another retch.

"Fine, you know what, why don't you just hurry up with the puking, then get out," he snapped, his impatience finally getting the better of him. He'd be damned if he begged for information. There were other less humiliating methods he could use. "I've got business that _I_ need to attend to."

Potter made a vague rude gesture in Draco's direction.

Draco let out an irritated sigh. The close proximity of Potter and his stench was making him feel light-headed. "Whatever, Potter. Just don't think I'll be letting you do this here again. Marty might choose to tolerate you, but I sure as hell don't."

Not waiting for an answering groan, Draco gladly tore out of the bathroom, and back to the safety of his room, where he collapsed onto the bed with a weary sigh. Merlin, just one conversation with the man and he felt completely drained. Didn't it use to be the exact opposite at Hogwarts? Exhilarating and invigorating, and all things _alive_? When did his life become so dreary? And why hadn't he drawn his own wand to even the playing field out?

Merlin, why hadn't he even _thought_ about retaliating until now?

He rubbed at his tender neck almost absently, staring up at the cracked ceiling in deep thought. By the time he had gained enough nerve - or rather his bladder had demanded attention - to leave his room again, all that remained of Potter's little sleep over was a blanket carelessly thrown on one side of the couch …

… and a familiar pair of oddly shaped glasses lying crookedly on the coffee table.

* * *

Late that afternoon, Draco was reminded of why he had been dumped there in the first place.

It was halfway through his tutorial lesson, when his left pant pocket began to vibrate ominously.

"Shit," he cursed, dropping his pen in alarm. Heart pounding in anticipation, his left hand automatically went to his pocket, where he had carefully folded his clever little parchment. In his impatience, he would have taken it out right then and there, if it hadn't been for the shadow that suddenly loomed in front of him.

"_Mr._ Malloy."

Draco snapped his head up. His tutor, looking none too pleased, stood in front of him, hands placed expectantly on her hips.

At his attention, she continued to address him in a disapproving manner. "Part of our university policy is to prohibit the presence of mobile phones during class. I will only let you off this time. Kindly switch it off, or if it is an emergency, take the call outside."

By now, their conversation had drawn the entire class's attention. Some Muggles had even took it upon themselves to stop working completely, and simply ogle Draco, who was gaping mindlessly.

He really should have known what a mobile was … he'd heard them mentioned enough times, but he just had no idea. Perhaps some sort of a relation to the telly-phone, but he really wasn't in any sort of mood to find out at that moment. Instead, Draco had no qualms about snatching it up as an excuse, since it was sort of handed to him on a silver platter.

He stood up, placing all his stuff into his satchel, and ignored all the inquisitive looks. "Uh yeah – sorry," he said quickly. "It is an emergency. I have – to go – now."

The parchment in his pocket continued to make known its presence as he turned around, and he hurried his exit from the room without any further ado. Then –

"Oh my God!"

The horrified scream caught him off-guard. Well-honed instincts almost had him dropping to the ground and reaching for his wand, but he managed to turn around semi-calmly to face the girl that had stood up and was pointing to something across the other side of the room.

As others began to exclaim their surprise, Draco followed her finger to the glass window and immediately saw the reason for their shock.

"Oh, for the love of Merlin," he muttered softly to himself, rolling his eyes.

Right there hovering outside the classroom's window, in broad daylight, was an owl bearing the Ministry insignia; its beak pecking furiously on the pane.

_Well, there's one thing you have to admit about them_, he thought wryly as he slipped quietly out of the room amidst the cries of his classmates and the persistent pecking of the owl, _their owl delivery is certainly getting quicker_.

He didn't bother searching for the troublesome owl after he had walked out of his room. No sooner had the door shut behind him did Draco yank out the parchment with shaking hands, and began to unfold it.

With growing excitement, he perused the parchment, and his eyes latched onto the flashing red light on the bottom right hand corner of the map. It he wasn't mistaken, that beacon was closest to the section of the university that he'd only been to just yesterday – when he had been tailing Potter, in fact.

_Surely, that was no coincidence_, he mused thoughtfully.

Draco absently fingered his wand - hidden carefully in his pocket - itching to make use of the other function of the map, but other issues demanded his attention first. Regretfully pulling his hand away from his wand, he began to sprint towards the building highlighted on the map. After all, there was no time like the present to catch the culprit in the act, even though it was highly unlikely they'd still be sticking around.

He met little resistance as he dashed through the hallways and up countless stairs as most students were now in class, as he should have been. But that hardly mattered anymore. Draco was so close to solving his case … he could feel it with every great stride he took. Breathing heavily, he glanced again at the dot on the parchment, growing closer to the spot – and, as he had suspected – the classroom he'd followed Potter to just the day before, the classroom that Potter had had no legitimate reason to go to.

It was almost anti-climatic when he finally reached the source of the latest Dark magic, because predictably enough, it was the very same classroom Potter had been spotted leaving, and there was absolutely nobody inside, or for that matter, even close by.

But it did confirm one very important thing for Draco.

Potter was somehow linked.

He glanced down at the parchment again then, curious to see just what spell had been used, and would have reached into his arm sleeve to pull out his wand, but students began to filter out of the classrooms on either side of him. One looked at him weirdly as she passed, and he sneered rudely back at her, before refolding the parchment and heading to the nearest toilets.

Taking care to assure that nobody else could bother him, he performed a silent Imperturbable Charm on the cubicle he stepped into before taking out the parchment again. This time, he tapped the flashing red dot twice, murmuring a spell to reveal itself to him.

Slowly, tiny red cursive letters instantly scrawled across the parchment.

Draco recognised the Dark Spell immediately. Being part of a Pureblooded family, he was familiarised with the sort of spells one family would use with one another. Curiously, this one was one of them. It was a form of communication between wizards, initiated through the shedding of blood to ensure nobody but the intended could read the message. Not a particularly dangerous Dark Spell, but part of the Dark Arts nonetheless as it included the element of blood.

Draco frowned as he leant against the wall of the cubicle. It was an unusual spell for more than the fact that only purebloods had ever used the spell. Blood was precious for the pure bloods in the wizarding world, and there were far more complex spells that could just as easily ensure absolute secrecy with their messages. For instance, the spell used for the Inter-Memos at the Ministry of Magic was just as effective, as was the ever popular use of owls to send messages, both of which require less effort than this particular spell.

Besides, it was somewhat archaic to communicate in such a way. Draco's own father had never resorted to spilling his own blood to communicate with anyone. He'd always believed that it was too dangerous to offer his rare blood to anybody, especially to his close friends.

'You can never be too cautious, Draco …'

Draco wrenched his mind away from the memory of his father's voice, and focused once more on the location of the spell, information not even the Ministry had. He folded up the parchment, and disassembled the Charm around the cubicle, deciding eventually that there was much more to this situation than he or Moody had ever thought.

* * *

Draco wiped at his eyes tiredly a few hours later, the words of his text book blurring before him.

_You'd think I would be feeling somewhat ecstatic that something was finally happing with the case_, he thought wryly.

He'd finally had his first real concrete evidence that there was Dark activity going on in this university, and that it could possibly be linked to Potter, albeit loosely. But he couldn't summon up the expected triumph he should be feeling.

Instead, he couldn't stop thinking about his dreams.

They'd kept him feeling on edge ever since he returned from that classroom, and he hadn't been able to concentrate since. He shut his book with a sigh. It was as though his subconscious was demanding that he was missing something, but for the life of him, he couldn't think what.

Draco hated that feeling. The last thing he wanted was to miss something now and find out afterwards that it had been in front of his nose the whole time.

Although it was nowhere as effective as Severus's handy Pensieve would have been, Draco tried to visualise the images from his dream again, closing his eyes as he leant back in his chair. He couldn't think where that doll snapping had come from; the memory of something from his childhood kept slipping away from him. But … the rude gesture and the hooded face … they clearly came from that little altercation in the hallway the day before.

It was easy enough to remember that jostle from behind - his shoulder still bore the bruise - as was the immediate aftermath. He could still see in his mind's eye as the Muggle swung around arrogantly to flip him the bird; the jumbo-sized hood falling back in the process to reveal tousled black hair, and icy blue eyes that glared back at him. He also remembered as that glacial glare quickly turned into shock when Draco stepped away from the lockers and sneered at him.

He frowned as that niggling feeling returned. What was he missing? There was nothing unusual about the Muggle's reaction to him, was there? It was only natural that the Muggle would have run away from him after Draco's infamous sneer. So many others had in the past.

Yet, as he envisioned the Muggle's expression in his mind again - mouth dropping open, eyebrows disappearing way up to his hairline - he could have sworn that, for the briefest of seconds, something very close to recognition had flashed across his features.

Draco jolted up from his chair, eyes wide.

How had a Muggle recognised_ him?_

* * *

Later that night, Draco brooded over the case, sipping his beer at Joe's with the rest of the gang. Thankfully though, Potter was absent. Draco had heard him arguing with Marty as he was changing, followed not long after by their front door slamming shut with considerable force, and then the sound of another door slamming in the distance.

Marty sat beside him, with a rare look of frustration on his face. After Potter had stormed out of their apartment, Marty had uncharacteristically snapped at Draco when he'd casually asked if _Evansson_ was going to be joining them that night.

"What the fuck do you think after that commotion?" he had spat out derisively, before spinning on his heels to clang around in the kitchen for a hidden bottle of alcohol.

He'd later apologised for his outburst, which Draco had found somewhat surprising. Apologies were rarely directed his way. Usually people expected _him_ to be the one apologising … for his upbringing, attitude, and practically every choice he'd ever made in his life.

Draco cast away his morbid thoughts when Marty sighed heavily. "How are you feeling now?" he asked him carefully.

"Oh, all right, I guess," Marty answered, his speech slightly slurred. He'd just finished his seventh drink, and was waiting for Dan to bring the next round. "James is just pissing me off – but that's nothing you don't already know." He shot Draco a sheepish grin before continuing on. "God knows I love the bloke, but James is so closed off about his past that it makes it impossible for me to help him when he gets all dark and depressed. Especially when he goes and meets up with those friends of his …"

"Does he get like that often?" Draco interrupted eagerly.

A suspicious gleam appeared in Marty's eyes, and Draco realised he had pushed too far.

"Sometimes," Marty said evasively, and twisted his head around to see where Dan was.

_Merlin's balls, _Draco swore inwardly, taking another sip of his drink. _Just when I was getting somewhere interesting._

From what Marty had inadvertently indicated in their conversation, it appeared that Potter frequently had these 'dark and depressed' periods where he'd drink until he dropped, and meet up with some rather shady characters for days at a time.

It also appeared that these periods were not particularly consistent to one another. Something reminded Potter of his past, and he went on a binge to forget. This coincided perfectly with the random dark activities occurring around the university.

Also, after seeing one of those 'dark and depressed' events for himself, Draco couldn't help but remember how complacent Potter was about revealing intimate details about his magical past. Could it be possible that - in those times when Marty couldn't get to him - he was just as unworried about performing some dark magic in front of sycophantic followers who thought he was some kind of magician? After all, it wasn't too far fetched to suggest that the anonymity of the Muggle world was probably too much of a change to his previous way of life that Potter had merely reconstructed a similar situation amongst gullible Muggles. Draco knew that Potter had always loved the positive attention of the wizarding public, regardless of what Severus had said to him.

Draco sighed a long sigh of his own. But what he needed was the hard evidence to back him up. A night of drunken ramblings wasn't going to be enough to get the boy wonder locked up for good. He needed to get proof of Potter's drunken indiscretions … pictures of him drinking … voice recordings of him revealing their world of magic … and most importantly of all, him performing little magic tricks to his shady Muggle friends.

It just _had_ to be him, Draco thought, frowning. Who else could it possibly be?

At that moment, Dan came back with two beers, and a sour expression on his face.

"So I see James has found his old buddies," he said, practically slamming their glasses onto the table.

"What?" Disbelief laced Marty's tone. He turned around, head straining to look around the club. "What are you talking about? James couldn't come tonight."

Wordlessly, and looking none too impressed, Dan pointed to a spot over Draco's right shoulder.

Draco slowly followed Marty's shocked gaze over to the middle of the dance floor.

His eyes widened. It looked as though he might have a chance to gather evidence on Potter that night after all, for a suspiciously familiar brunette was on the dance floor, and dancing extremely close to another shadowy figure.

Both Sam and Tyler gasped in unison.

"Seems to me he's planning on coming anytime now," Sam noted from beside him. His voice was sounding a little choked.

And despite the sneer that immediately appeared on his face, Draco could hardly blame the Muggle. For an ex-Quidditch player, the other man had an unusually compelling method of dancing. Clad completely in black, Potter was almost wrapped around the other bloke – for the figure was unmistakeably male – slowly, but purposefully grinding in a way that left nothing to the imagination.

A low growl suddenly had him turning back to the group – abruptly remembering where he was and who he was staring at - and Draco was surprised to see an ugly expression had formed on Marty's face.

"I can _not_ believe him," Marty breathed angrily, eyes fixed on Potter. Fists clenched, he went to stand up, obviously with the intention of marching out onto the dance floor and confronting the oblivious man.

But Dan laid a steadying hand on his shoulder that kept him seated.

"We can't confront him here," Dan said evenly, sidling closer to his partner. Slowly, he unfurled Mart's fists clenched until they reluctantly relaxed in his grip. "Something's clearly got him fired up enough to seek those _friends_ of his, and that something won't stop him from biting our heads off if we go over there and cause trouble again."

"Those friends of his are _no _friends. They're disgusting, perverted idiots," Marty spat, but he made no move to rise up again. Although … if looks could kill. "They're getting him into trouble that I don't think he'll be able to escape from."

He looked so close to tears at that moment that Dan ran a soft hand through his hair, and pulled him close enough to whisper something into his ear; everyone else at the table abruptly forgotten.

Averting his gaze from their little private moment just as Sam and Tyler had done, Draco couldn't help himself; his eyes drifted back over to the dance floor, almost riveted at the sight. He'd never seen Potter move so seductively before. It was raw and tough and definitely dangerous looking, but it was also so tantalising at the same time.

He wasn't the only one who thought that either. Other people on the dance floor clearly noticed Potter's overpowering presence, too. Guys kept on approaching him only to be roughly rebuffed by one sharp shake of his head.

It appeared that Potter only had eyes for this strange, faceless guy tonight, he thought wryly, though Salazar knows why.

His neck ached from the angle he was looking from, but Draco pushed the discomfort aside as he continued to watch. _I'm just trying to figure out who the other guy is_, he told himself firmly. _Not for any other reason._

But unfortunately, it wasn't quite so easy to convince the others. Sam caught him looking, and nudged him with a laugh.

"Yeah, he's a real one to look at, ain't he?" he whispered, and Draco saw that his eyes also kept straying towards Potter. "But you ain't got a chance with him, 'cause he likes them all tough and mysterious."

Draco sighed inwardly. _Like I'd ever want a chance with him. _"Like him."

"Yeah – like him."

Draco accidentally caught Marty's eye - when he glanced at Potter again - who flashed what looked to be a sympathetic smile in his direction. Suddenly, watching Potter continue to grope and grind the other man was more than Draco could take. With an obvious effort even _he_ couldn't ignore, he tore his eyes away from the horrifying, yet embarrassingly arousing sight, and abruptly stood up.

"I'll be right back," he said when the others looked up at him curiously. "I just need to use the bathroom."

Not even waiting for the others to reply, Draco hurriedly stepped away from their table, and weaved his way through the rowdy crowd and over to the bathroom. Not once did he raise his eyes from the ground, _especially_ not when he passed by the dance floor. Finding out the identity of the other man would just have to wait until another time, Merlin dammit.

When he reached the safety of the bathroom, he let out a breath he had not realised he'd been holding. Then, noticing a couple of other men already standing in the urinals, he straightened his shoulders and went into a cubicle to fix up a certain problem that had arisen and could no longer be ignored.

Except he found he was quite unable to.

* * *

Draco barely had the chance to lock the door before a commotion went on outside.

A growled, amplified voice rose above the music of the club, filling the room. "Get the fuck out."

Predictably, nobody took well to the imperious command.

"Who the hell do you think you are?" Draco heard one guy complain. "The fucking Queen?"

There was no verbal answer, only a massive crunch as flesh met bone, and then an indignant yelp of pain.

"Do I need to repeat myself?" the first voice repeated in a deceptively soft voice.

There was the sound of multiple zippers hurriedly being zipped up, and then a stampede-like rush to the door.

At that moment, something told Draco that it would be better to hide his presence rather than reveal it by walking out of the cubicle. Backing up to the toilet, he instantly pointed the wand at himself, feeling the cold, trickling sensation of the Disillusionment Charm travel down through his body. A moment later, he climbed up onto the now closed toilet seat and pointed his wand at the door, quietly twisting the lock until it was back in the vacant position.

Just in time, it seemed. When all seemed to be quiet outside, the bathroom door slammed shut and the lock clicked loudly; the noise echoing with a finality that made Draco instinctively shiver and check to make sure his wand was out of sight.

Another, slightly less familiar voice then spoke. "Potter, you-"

Potter must have directed him to stop, because the voice cut off abruptly, and nothing was more said.

Listening hard, Draco realised someone had begun to approach the cubicles; slow, measured footsteps that were growing closer and closer. At that moment, he had never been gladder for his Auror training. Silently, he inched up the toilet seat, looking through his disillusioned feet for reassurance.

"Anybody here?" Potter cooed.

Tilting his head to one side, Draco could just see the tip of one shiny black shoe as it stopped at the cubicle next to his. He held his breath as the door forcefully swung open, forcing himself not to wince as it crashed into the wall by his ear.

When nobody was found, Potter moved on.

Draco's fingers tightly gripped the toilet as Potter took one step closer to his cubicle. Hopefully, his Outstanding in Stealth and Concealment would pay off against the slayer of the Dark Lord. He just wouldn't be able to handle it if Potter saw him like this. His situation was humiliating enough as it was without adding to it.

The footsteps slowed to a stop in front of his cubicle, both shoes now pointing forebodingly in his direction. Draco braced himself as the door suddenly opened with a forceful _whoosh_; slamming so fast and so hard into the wall that his disillusioned hair was blown back by the aftermath.

Looking straight ahead, he saw Potter's silhouette, fierce and angry, and couldn't help himself as he flinched back into the toilet. Potter had never looked so damned threatening in that moment…

…nor darker.

Potter stared at the space Draco occupied for one very long moment, his lips curled in a sneer. Just when Draco was absolutely convinced his cover had been blown, the other man with Potter spoke up again.

"There's no one here."

The voice was slightly impatient, and in Draco's opinion, stupidly aloof. Only certain people could get away with talking like that to the Chosen One. He knew from personal experience.

Potter turned away from Draco's cubicle to address the other man, clearly annoyed, and the door finally rested to a stop, three-quarters of the way closed.

"I can see that," he snapped, though he continued to check the remaining cubicles without further comment. Evidently satisfied that there was indeed nobody there, he eventually walked back over to the entrance and out of Draco's sight.

He heard Potter's voice, unnaturally rough say, "Now, didn't I tell all of you _not_ to contact me like that again?"

There was a strangled gasp and the unmistakeable sound of a zipper being unzipped. "Forgive me – bu- but Malfoy. Malfoy is here. Jac-Jacob saw him on campus the other day."

Draco's heart sped up at the mention of his name, and the fact that somebody _else_ had recognised him.

"Do you think me blind?" Potter said cuttingly. "I was there too. He's been a part of _my _group." His voice grew harsher. "Besides, is that a good enough reason for your stupid brother to stand me up? If he had left me the message at the time and place I had _planned_, Jacob would never have bumped into Malfoy. It's been foolproof until now."

The utter contempt in Potter's voice still wasn't warning enough to shut the other man up.

"But what does he want?" he whined. "He's an Auror. He knows us. He could find _us_ out."

"I don't know what he wants yet, but I will be the one to find out. Not you."

"But-"

"We're already attracting enough suspicion," Potter interrupted darkly. "You know you shouldn't have allowed him to use that spell to communicate with _anyone_. It's careless acts like that which could jeopardise the whole plan. Not to mention the fact that I never intended for him to use his _gift_ like that. What a waste of _my _time."

"He's still only learning," the man maintained stubbornly.

"Don't give me that pathetic excuse. He's had _months_ to learn. I tolerated his earlier stunts in the beginning, but now it is unacceptable. There's been too much Dark activity in this area for it to be deemed as a coincidence anymore, especially with an Auror sticking his nose around the place."

There was a sullen pause, which re-ignited Potter's fury.

"Look, just remember who it is that is risking everything here? Remember what it is _I_ am doing for you and your _brother _and the rest of those bumbling idiots."

"Yes – I know."

"Then don't second guess me," Potter snapped, then added slyly, "I am the _Golden_ Boy, after all." Amazingly, the two shared a quiet, dry chuckle, before Potter's voice barked out, "Now turn around."

A low moan was the other man's only reply.

Unable to resist temptation any longer, Draco carefully eased himself off the toilet seat and leant the slightest bit forward, so one eye could see through the crack of the door. He looked at the wide mirror over the sinks, and saw the most unexpected scene ever in the reflection.

Potter pushing the slightly taller man into the wall with one hand, and tugging at his own pants with the other. When the other man's pants dropped to the ground, Draco watched on in disbelief as Potter's hand snuck around to the man's front, drawing out another strangled gasp.

"_Fuck_."

"That was what I was planning on doing actually," Potter whispered back.

Draco couldn't see Potter's expression, but heard the deep moan as the so called Golden Boy suddenly drove himself forward and into the other man.

A ragged scream tore through the man's throat even as he pushed himself closer to Potter, who, in return, made no move to slow his rough thrusts; placing both hands on the other man's hips so tightly that it would certainly leave bruises.

It was almost too painful for Draco to continue to watch, but there was no doubting the other man was welcoming the violent actions, delighting in them even. His back arched with every thrust, and his breathy moans easily rose above the noise outside. Frozen in place, Draco couldn't tear his eyes away for the second time that night.

In between thrusts, Potter's voice was grim as he taunted the other man. "You like that, don't you," he said harshly, not even sounding slightly out of breath. "You like the pain, the feeling of submitting. You're a _sick_ fuck, aren't you?"

"Yes. Oh … Merlin, yes." The man was mimicking his movements, groaning.

"And you wouldn't want me to stop now, would you?" he asked, driving himself in and pausing for one, excruciating looking moment.

"No – fuck, don't stop – don't stop. Keep going." Draco curled his lip at the pathetic begging, but still didn't turn away as Potter started again.

Draco caught Potter's strangely emotionless face when he stopped a second time and turned his head to lean forward and whisper into the man's ear. "Then when am I going to see them again? You told me I would and it's been three months since then."

He gently drew in the earlobe with his lips, then bit the earlobe. Hard.

The man squirmed. "Ahhh – I don't – don't know. Oh Mer-Merlin – soon. I think, soon. Just – pleaseeee."

"I need more than that," Potter warned, closing his eyes, unmoving. "I can stop right now, as you know very well."

The other man started babbling, and Draco's eyes inadvertently drifted over to the bared arms that were straining to hold himself up against the wall. "I promise – please, I'll get you in to see them. Just fi-finish it, I swear – I swear, Potter."

"Very well."

Potter appeared to have been waiting for that promise. With a sly smirk, he resumed his earlier movements; thrusting faster and faster until, after a few more torturous minutes had passed, he softly moaned his release. Tugging at the other man's front with one rough hand, it wasn't long before he too followed suit with a howl, falling forward onto the wall.

When Potter had recovered enough, he pulled himself out as uneventfully as if he'd just taken a leak, and used a mild cleaning charm on himself.

"Clean yourself up," Potter ordered, as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. "And get out. I don't want to see you until you make contact with them. I'm sick of waiting and constantly having to prove myself. You all know I'm worth more to you lot than that."

Still slumped against the wall, panting, the man – whose features were still faced away from Draco – nodded fearfully.

Looking satisfied, Potter dissolved the complicated locking charms on the door, and the man scrabbled to do what he had said, quickly exiting the toilets.

The door shut softly and re-locked behind him, and all the earlier fierceness seemed to instantly seep out of Potter. With an air of an old man, he turned around and sagged against the wall for a long moment, then stiffly walked over to look at himself in the mirror.

The face that appeared shocked Draco to the very core. There was little left of the boy who had so brazenly defied the Dark Lord, and more of the crazed man that he had defeated. With one eye still riveted to that mirror, Draco couldn't believe how much the so-called saviour had changed yet again.

Potter gave one last sigh at his ragged reflection, dead looking green eyes staring back at him, before visibly straightening himself up and pushing away from the mirror. He waved his hand almost neglectfully as he approached the door, allowing it to unlock again long enough for him to exit.

As other annoyed Muggles started to enter the almost deserted bathroom, Draco re-locked his own door, and leant back on the closed seat, his legs trembling. _What was Potter all about? _One minute he was arrogant, then the next all drunk and hopeless, and now – now he was mingling with Death Eaters as though he was the Dark Lord and they were his followers.

And there was no doubt that Potter was in touch with Death Eaters. Draco couldn't miss the faded Mark that was so blatantly uncovered on the other man's left arm. It was unlikely he'd ever _not_ be able to recognise it, even from such a distance, as it was branded in his heart as much as it had been branded on his own arm

_Merlin, I can't figure out the stupid git._

He almost gave a sigh at the sheer complexity of the stupid mess he'd involved himself in, but something stopped him. Something much more demanding.

Draco groaned in disbelief.

"You're kidding me, right?" he exclaimed softly, looking down.

Far from wilting, his crotch could only twitch in reply.

* * *

**A/N:** Okay, well, I hope that this chapter was a decent update. I know it raises even more questions, but the bathroom scene was one of the first scenes I had envisioned for this fic, and it took me absolutely ages to get it right. So, what do you think? Is the rating now justified for the fic? You don't think it was too explicit to post on here, because the last thing I want to do is have my account suspended :(

Oh, and sorry, one last thing. Thanks to everybody who has reviewed so far, and added me to their author alerts or favourites lists. It is much appreciated as always, and hugs go out to all!


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